


Now You've Found Me

by jaztice



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: AU where the six horsemen live in a van and travel around doing magic shows, Angst, Complete, Family Feels, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Slow Burn, Tressler Is A Dick TM But We Already Knew That, Yeah I have no idea what I'm doing, also they're all kids except Dylan, and children being adorable, but there is also a lot of snark, enjoy, okay you know what if you read the thing i literally give you their ages so i'll just stop, so hopefully it balances out??, the Horsemen all had very bad lives so warning there might be some bad stuff in here, well teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 127,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaztice/pseuds/jaztice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Eye has made some powerful enemies, and Arthur Tressler is one of them. He'll stop at nothing to destroy the Eye, and that includes kidnapping child magician prodigies to keep them from his enemy. But the Eye isn't about to go down without a fight. To keep their five most promising initiates out of Tressler's hands, they send Dylan Shrike to recruit them and keep them safe, him providing the kids with whatever they need while the Eye provides a shield from Tressler's spies. But it won't stay that way for long, not with Tressler, the FBI, and others on their tail. </p><p>A pickpocket, a circus freak, a drunk, a privileged runaway, a kid with control issues and a need for the spotlight, and a former FBI agent with far too many enemies. </p><p>What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cards

He found Daniel Atlas first, performing card tricks in a coffee shop at the age of fifteen.

Daniel was good with cards, but he was even better at charming crowds. He drew them in, wowed them, and raked in the cash. His fast-paced chatter and nervous jittering vanished when he was performing. He combined the perfect flair of flirtation and charisma that made for a perfect stage magician but a horrible friend. Daniel Atlas loved the limelight. Dylan guessed right when he assumed that came from a lack of it back at home.

He probably wouldn’t have picked him, but the kid had skill and he was on the list. The others wouldn’t be quite as obnoxious, but then again, he was dealing with kids. They were all pretty obnoxious.

Dylan slipped the card into Daniel’s shoe as the kid left the store, a girl hanging off one arm as he shuffled a deck of cards in one hand.

* * *

He found Henley Reeves next in a private school talent show, demonstrating the proper technique for escaping from handcuffs while dangled over a pit of Legos.

He figured sixteen-year-olds weren’t allowed to use real spikes or poisonous snakes in school talent shows, but Legos worked just as well. They were pretty painful on their own. She slipped out of the chains with ease, wearing a skimpy outfit that made most of the crowd roar like animals. Hormonal teenagers, in Dylan’s book, were ridiculous. He had to deal with at least two.

After the show, he overheard the redhead getting yelled at by her parents, a pair of adults wearing expensive clothes and conceited expressions. Henley said nothing, her knuckles white as she clutched a pair of handcuffs in her hand.

Dylan dropped the card in her prop bag when she wasn’t looking and left before he saw her cry.

* * *

He found Merritt McKinney in a bar, a beer bottle in one hand as he hypnotized a guy who’d slipped a roofie into a girl’s drink.

Merritt was twenty-two and a college dropout, palming money off assholes he found in his daily life by figuring out their secrets. An amazing hypnotist, especially at his age, and a good guy all around. But he was a drunk. Dylan made a mental note to hide his whiskey before Saturday.

He watched as Merritt snapped his fingers, waved his hands, and cheated the guy out of eighty bucks. The girl gave him a thankful smile and left while the asshole stumbled out the back door, glaring at the hypnotist behind him. Merritt McKinney just sat at the bar and ordered another beer, rubbing his hand through his thinning hair.

Dylan had a drink and snuck the card into Merritt’s unattended hat on the counter before leaving the bar.

* * *

He didn’t so much find Jack Wilder as Jack Wilder found him, trying to pick his pocket for lunch money.

The kid was eleven, running around New York and dodging cops while putting on the occasional magic show. He was incredible with sleight of hand, probably better than Dylan himself was at that age. Jack tried to pick his pocket the morning he arrived in New York City, and Dylan caught him. The kid was terrified. But Dylan let him go and trailed him to Central Park, amazed that he hadn’t felt Jack’s hand in his pocket until it was halfway out and wrapped around his wallet.

Jack Wilder bent a spoon in front of a crowd and sliced leaves off a tree with flying cards. When a few beat cops came over looking for trouble, Jack split and took his earnings with him.

Dylan slipped the card into Jack’s pocket as he ran from the cops through the crowd, unnoticed in the chaos.

* * *

He found Lula in a circus, a goddamn circus of all places, putting on a cute little show until the main magician needed her as his assistant.

Lula had a real gift for rope tricks, and an even better one for conjuring live animals. She was eleven too, an orphan who’d run away to join the circus, just like in a movie. Her own show near the Big Top entrance was amazing, pulling doves out of her sleeves like coins and cards. She had a bubbly personality that combined humorous and adorable. The magician she assisted in the main show was half the magician she was, but she did her part and the crowd cheered.

After their act, Dylan saw the Big Top magician slap Lula across the face backstage. A cold feeling settled into his gut. He waited until Lula left before grabbing the guy and chaining him to the outside of the lion’s cage in his underwear. The tech crew didn’t even try to help him.

Dylan stuck the card into Lula’s actual tarot deck, lying on her show table outside the Big Top, and hoped she got away before that magician got out of his handcuffs.

* * *

Dylan stared at the pictures of the five kids in front of him on the table, shuffling a deck of cards as he held a cellphone between his shoulder and his ear.

“Ma’am, I don’t know if I can do this,” he said. It was Friday night. The kids would arrive tomorrow, if they even came. “I told you, I’m not a kid person. Why do you have me babysitting all these gremlins?”

“Dylan Shrike, it would do you well to not to call your new wards ‘gremlins.’” The woman on the other end of the phone replied in Mandarin, her voice aged and wise. “And you are not just babysitting them. Tressler wants them, and we must keep them safe.”

“They may not even show up! What kind of kid follows directions from a mysterious tarot card they found in their pocket?”

“The kind you just chose, Dylan.”

“How do you know?”

“I am old, and wise, and I have been a magician longer than you have been alive. I know many things, Dylan.”

He stayed silent and shuffled the deck. Couldn’t really argue with that.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, putting the cards down and taking ahold of the phone. “I just… they may not like me. They may not want to stay. What do I do then? How am I supposed to watch a bunch of runaways and thieves? How am I supposed to keep them safe?”

“Dylan, check your back pocket.”

He blinked, doubtful, and reached to the back of his jeans. There was something in his pocket; he pulled it out and stared.

A tarot card, just like the ones he gave the kids. On the back was the message, ‘All Will Be Well.’

The front held the image of a man.

“The Fool,” Dylan read. “Gee, thanks.”

“You will understand in time, Dylan. You need them as much as they need you. Now prepare for the children. Have faith, and all will be well.”

“You know, I don’t think–” Dylan began, but the woman hung up before he could finish his sentence. He heaved a heavy sigh and shut off his phone, slipping it back into his pocket, before taking another good look at his card.

_All will be well._

Dylan slipped the card back into his pocket and stood up, heading towards his bedroom to get some rest. God knew he was going to need it.


	2. One Year Later

“Are we there yet?”

Dylan didn’t respond; he did, however, look ready to throw himself out the window, which would probably be bad considering he was the driver. Jack, however, just fist bumped Lula and grinned at the back of Dylan’s head.

“Jack, seriously, stop asking him that. Dylan _will_ stop the van and throw you in a ditch,” Henley reminded him.

“Probably not a bad idea,” Danny mumbled.

“Hey, I heard that!”

 “Children, please,” Merritt said, lounging at the back of the van on a beach chair. “Let’s not bicker while Dad tries to maneuver us through ten hours of traffic. It puts his already fragile nerves on edge.”

“Merritt, so help me, I will throttle you in your sleep,” Dylan growled from the front seat.

“Alright, never mind. Bicker away.”

Jack and Lula chuckled as Dylan slammed his head onto the steering wheel and groaned. They’d been stuck in traffic for three hours – apparently, there’d been a fatal wreck on the freeway and only one lane was open, making the pace on the usually six-lane highway hellaciously slow. Thankfully, their only appointment in Atlanta was tomorrow, at some kind of event at Oglethorpe, so they hadn’t had to cancel any shows.

Then again, there was only so much of each other the magicians could take. Lula had been bouncing off the walls since the ride began. Henley had taken refuge in the front seat to help Dylan navigate. Merritt was trying (unsuccessfully) to read a book and sleep. And Jack was just bothering Danny because there was literally nothing else to do to pass the time.

“Can I climb on the roof and ride up there?” Lula asked.

“ _No_ ,” Dylan and Henley said in unison.

“What if I make sure to be careful?”

“Jack, restrain her please,” Dylan asked, his voice hoarse.

“I’ve tried,” he said. “Trust me.”

Lula giggled and climbed up to Henley’s bunk, hooking her legs over the side and hanging upside down. Jack was sitting a foot away, on a box of something or other wedged between other boxes and pieces of furniture. She bopped him on the nose.

“I’m uncontrollable,” she said, grinning.

Jack rolled his eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“Aww, that’s not very nice.”

“Guys, seriously, stop it, I’m _freaking out_.” Danny never really did well in enclosed spaces, especially when everyone in said enclosed space had been annoying him for the better part of three hours. “I need something, I need fresh air like right now, _right. Now_.”

“Stick your head out the window!” Merritt provided.

“On the _highway_? Do you want me to lose my head?”

Merritt shrugged, but Dylan yelled, “Nobody’s moving on this highway, Atlas, just stick your damn head out the window.”

Danny maneuvered his way over to one of the van’s doors, Jack sticking out his leg to trip him on the way. He recovered easily and shoved Jack’s head away, which made the younger one laugh.

He finally reached the window and rolled it down, letting in a gust of cold air. It was early March in Atlanta, which meant it was still cold but not nearly as cold as it would be in New York. Jack was fine with this. The van, thankfully, was heated, although Dylan had turned it down somewhat to save gas.

“Ugh, Danny!” Lula yelled, pulling herself onto Henley’s bunk normally. “It’s freezing!”

“Then put on a jacket, that’s not my problem!”

Jack just laughed as Lula glared at Daniel, wrapping herself up in Henley’s sheets. She cast him a glare too.

“Don’t laugh at me, numbnuts,” she said. “If this were summer, you’d be dying right now.”

“Yeah, right. Do you have any idea how hot New York City gets in the summer?”

“It’s five times as humid down here, Jackie boy,” Merritt interjected, lowering his book and smirking. “That kinda heat is worse.”

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but Danny beat him to it.

“Uh guys, someone is staring at me in the car next to us,” he said.

“Maybe because you’re sticking your head out the window like a dog,” Henley said, turning around.

“No, uh, I don’t think – oh, they’re rolling down the window.”

“Hello!” someone said outside the van. The kids all looked at each other before clamoring over to the window. Henley even got out of the front seat.

“Guys come on,” Dylan said, “don’t talk to strangers on the highway.”

“Oh it’s fine,” Henley said, shoving Danny aside so she could see. Jack and Lula had to stand on a box.

The car next to them was a black Escalade, and in the back seat of said Escalade was a teenage boy, probably a little older than Henley. He had a full on beard and brown hair, and he was staring at the van with a ridiculously wide grin.

“Are you that magic troupe?” he asked over the sound of honking horns and running motors. He had a weird accent Jack took a moment to place. British? “The family of magicians that travels all over the country and puts on shows?”

“Uh, yes! Yes that’s us,” Danny said before anyone else could interrupt. “We’re the Horsemen. I’m guessing you’re a fan?”

The guy laughed. “That’s putting it lightly,” he said. “I love your work! Are you putting on a show in Atlanta?”

“Yeah, actually we are,” Henley said. Her voice had changed – Jack glanced over and saw her giving the guy her winning smile, the one she used to flirt with people. “It’s at Oglethorpe tomorrow night. You can come if you want!”

“Guys, get away from the window,” Dylan pleaded. “Come on.”

“Oh, I’d love to come!” the guy said. “What time is it?”

“Seven pm!” Lula said.

“Tickets cost five bucks,” Jack chimed in.

“That’s amazing, thank you!” The guy turned to someone next to him and told whoever it was to write that down. Then he turned back to the magician kids. “I’m Walter, by the way. Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too!” Merritt said. Their car pulled ahead of Walter’s and Dylan whooped in the front seat. Lula quickly rolled up the window to block the cold are gushing into the car.

“We’re in the exit lane, kids!” he yelled. “We’ll be out of this mess in no time!”

Everyone cheered, Henley quickly going back up front and grabbing her seat. Danny followed behind her and leaned into the driver’s section.

“Were you flirting with him?” he asked Henley.

Jack rolled his eyes and tuned out the rest of their conversation. Danny was so infatuated with Henley it was ridiculous.

“You know,” Lula said, waving her hands around, “you’d think, since we’re magicians, we could’ve just ‘magicked’ our way out of traffic.”

“Yeah, you’d think,” Jack muttered, rolling his eyes. “Come on, let’s practice card tricks.”

“No throwing cards in the van, Jack!” Dylan yelled. Once, Jack had tried to smack Merritt in the face once with an ace of diamonds and ended up slicing Dylan’s neck, which nearly caused him to crash. Now, card throwing was banned from the van. Which was fair, but it definitely cut down on the number of amusing things to do.

“I know!”


	3. Beginnings and Backgrounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lula's perspective, mainly just exposition.

Lula loved her new life.

It might’ve had something to do with her old life having been complete and utter shit, but this new life was still probably better than a normal life. She had other magicians for friends and family, got to travel all around the country, and no one was mean to her. Or, well, not mean in the way that they actually wanted to hurt her. Which, you know, was a bonus.

Lula’s old life had been spent in circuses, traveling all over, and this life was honestly pretty much the same. It was just a little more cramped. But the van was awesome! Sure, six people with clashing personalities stuck in an enclosed moving space for extended periods of time wasn’t exactly a recipe for success, but none of them had killed each other yet, and it’d been over a year since this fiasco began, so Lula had hope.

The van was dark blue and really long, with decorative paintings on the sides advertising who they were. It looked all sorts of official and fancy, but the inside was kind of a mess. There were two seats behind the driver and passenger seats, and all four of them could swivel to face a circular table in the middle of them. In between the side doors and the back doors, there were two couches bolted into either side of the van and a bunk above each couch. That was where they slept. Dylan usually slept in the passenger seat, which could fold back far enough to lay flat. Merritt slept on a beach chair near the back of the van.

The floor was littered with boxes and bags and assorted magic props and cards. There were also weird rugs under everything, so they wouldn’t have to walk on the bare metal floor of the van. The rest of their stuff (aka the makeshift stage, signs, and anything anyone wouldn’t mind getting lost or stolen) was bungee corded to the top of the van. The place was a total mess pretty much all the time, but Lula loved it. The only person who had a serious problem with it was Danny, but no one cared since he was a wuss.

Her family was great too! Much better than her old ones, if you could even call those ‘families.’ Jack was the youngest, about two and half months younger than Lula, and he was also shorter than her by a few inches. He kept saying he would grow soon, but Lula didn’t believe him. She and Jack were the mischief making duo. They were also both really good at picking pockets, a fact that Dylan didn’t approve of.

Danny was next oldest at sixteen, and he was probably the moodiest. Then came Henley, who was basically the mom and also badass and also Lula’s idol. Merritt was twenty-something and weird, and he wore a dumb hat and could read people’s minds. Lula thought he’d look better bald. And then there was Dylan, team dad, and the best magician of them all. He was the one that’d brought them all together. He was also the usual driver.

 Their little magic troupe was called The Horsemen, like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, except there were six of them. It didn’t make much sense to Lula, but who cared? People liked them anyway. And if people liked them, they made money for food and gas and more magic props and toys, which was really all she cared about.

They never stayed in one place for very long. They’d perform for a week or two then pack up and drive away. That was perfectly fine with Lula – she was used to never staying in one place. Jack and Danny had a hard time with it though, especially Jack. He’d never even been out of New York before, and now he was traveling to all sorts of new places he didn’t know. It kind of freaked him out. Lula had to help him a lot.

It was, however, far better than the alternative.

* * *

“Dylan, why are we all here?” Daniel asked. “Seriously.”

It was their first meeting ever and they were all sitting in the van, a little ways out of New York City. Dylan sighed and rubbed the back of neck before sitting up and staring at the kids.

“Have any of you heard of Arthur Tressler?” he asked.

Lula froze. She knew that name. And so did everyone else, apparently, except for Jack.

“Who’s Arthur Tressler?” he asked. “How do you all know who he is?”

“He’s a slime ball,” Lula answered, pulling her knees into her chest. “He tried to recruit me once. The magician in my circus almost sold me to him, but the ringmaster stopped him. Said if Arthur Tressler wanted me, I might be useful after all.”

“Well, he probably wasn’t wrong,” Merritt said. “No offense, kid.”

“It’s fine.”

“I still don’t know who he is,” Jack said, glancing around.

Dylan sighed again, glancing at the kids’ faces. His own face looked really heavy and worn, and kind of sad too, but he didn’t look mean or evil. He didn’t look like he wanted to hurt them. Lula figured she could trust him.

“Arthur Tressler,” Dylan began, “is a man that kidnaps young magicians and makes them use their gifts for his own personal gain. He was cheated out of his money by some magicians about ten years ago, ones working for the Eye. Since then, he’s been finding and ‘recruiting’ young magicians with impressive talents, hoping to take power away from the Eye as well as build his own empire.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

“He kidnaps kid magicians and makes them steal things and hurt people,” Henley clarified.

“Oh. He sucks.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna take a gander and say he’s after all of us,” Merritt said. “That’s why you and the Eye want us safe.”

“Yeah, that’s basically it,” Dylan admitted. “We’re stronger together than we are alone.”

“We’re also easier to capture if we’re all together,” Daniel added.

No one responded to that.

“So wait, how do you guys know who he is?” Jack asked, glancing around the circle at the other kids. “Did he like, come talk to you or something?”

“Well, he tried to _buy_ me, but I already told my story,” Lula said with a shrug.

Henley laughed. “Yeah, he came and talked to both me and Danny after one of our shows. It was pretty weird.”

“We told him no and he started threatening us, so a few stagehands got rid of him,” Danny continued. “Henley’s parents made sure he stayed away from her, and I just ignored him.”

“What about you, Merritt?” Jack asked.

“Eh, he came and talked to me when I was about Danny’s age,” he said. “Talked to both me and my brother. I declined, politely, but my bro wasn’t as adamant. Pretty sure that’s why he took all the money and split once we got into college.”

“Ugh, that sucks,” Lula said. “Sorry, Merritt.”

“It’s fine. Thing of the past, you know?”

“Wait, why hasn’t he contacted me?” Jack asked.

Dylan shrugged. “Probably because he was never able to catch you,” he said. “You’re a hard kid to track, Jack. You know how to keep hidden better than a lot of magicians in the Eye. When I got assigned to pick you guys up, they wanted me to get you first, just in case Tressler found you before we could.”

“Oh.” Jack seemed a little surprised. “Wow.”

“So that’s it?” Daniel asked. “We’re here because a lecherous rich guy wants to use us as personal thieves?”

“I mean, yeah, basically,” Dylan replied.

“So what, are we just stuck together until he stops hunting us? I mean, I don’t want to go back to my family any more than anyone else here I’m guessing, but still. What the hell are we supposed to do?”

They all looked at Dylan, and Dylan cracked a smile.

“Have any of you heard of the four horsemen?” 


	4. Atlanta

“ _A hotel?”_ Jack and Lula screamed.

Dylan held up his hands and nodded, smiling at their reaction. They’d had to stop for gas once they got inside the city, but the six horsemen weren’t actually too far from their final destination. Which, unbeknownst to everyone but Dylan until now, was an actual, god honest hotel.

“Yeah guys, a hotel,” he said, smiling. “Our employer for the Oglethorpe thing found this place close by and got us two rooms for a week. Said he didn’t want us sleeping in a van just because we couldn’t afford anything nicer.”

“Holy _shit!_ ” Jack yelled. “THIS IS SO AWESOME!”

“Jack, calm down!” Danny shouted, lounging in the front seat with his legs in Dylan’s chair. “It’s just a hotel, what’s the big deal?”

“I’ve never stayed in a hotel!” he answered.

“Me neither!” Lula added.

Henley and Danny stared at them in surprise. “Wait,” Danny said, “seriously?”

“Yeah! I lived in New York my whole life–”

“And I was in a circus! Not a lot of hotel opportunities for us, you know.”

Danny nodded and said, “Oh. Right.”

“Where are we staying?” Henley asked Dylan.

“Extended Stay America near the university,” he answered. “There’s free Wi-Fi.”

“ _Yes_.” Henley pumped her fist and did a victory dance – as the group’s resident hacker, she was all about free Wi-Fi. Everyone had to grin.

“Is there a store nearby?” Merritt asked. “We should probably stock up on car food and water bottles. We’ve been running low.”

“Yeah I also need like, ten new decks of cards,” Jack said.

“Plus we can do some tricks and hustle up more audience members!” Lula jumped up and down excitedly, holding onto Jack’s arm. Her voice carried through the gas station like a bell, but no one really cared. “Are we allowed to go out and explore? _Please_ Dylan?”

He just shook his head and smiled. “Yes,” he said, “you’re allowed to go explore. But go in pairs.”

“Do I have to pair up?” Merritt asked, twirling his hat in his hands.

“No.”

“What? How come he doesn’t and we do?” Danny said, outraged.

“Because he’s the only one here aside from me that’s a legal adult, Atlas. If you want to go explore, pair up. Merritt, no alcohol.”

“Aw come on, that’s half the fun.”

“Jack, Lula, no pick pocketing.”

Jack huffed, annoyed, but Lula nodded seriously. “We don’t want to get chased out of town before we even start our show, Jack,” she reasoned, but he was still a little miffed. It’d probably wear off once they got to the hotel.

“What are you gonna do while we run around, Dylan?” Henley asked.

The gas pump clicked and shut off, and Dylan maneuvered between her and Jack to get to the gas tank, pulling out the nozzle and putting it back in its place.

“Sleep,” he answered.

* * *

Once they reached the hotel, Dylan talked to the front desk (Henley said they were the “concierge,” whatever that was) while the other Horsemen packed up whatever they wanted to bring to the hotel room with them. Lula stuffed as much as she could into her Jansport backpack and hopped out of the van, Jack close behind her. They didn’t really have that much to begin with; living in a van tended to keep their level of personal belongings pretty low.

“I can’t wait I can’t wait I can’t wait!” Lula shouted, jumping up and down in the parking lot. Jack just kept grinning, bouncing on his toes and looking up at the hotel. “This is gonna be so cool! We can get _room service_ and ride in an _elevator_ and sleep in _real actual beds_ –”

“Oh come on, Lula, this hotel isn’t _that_ nice,” Henley said, dropping out of the van with her messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

“I dunno, it’s pretty nice for us,” Jack said, flashing her a grin. “Not all of us got to grow up staying in the Ritz, Henley.”

“For your information, I only stayed in the Ritz once.” Henley huffed and looked up at the hotel in disappointment. “And it was awesome.”

Jack rolled his eyes while Lula laughed. Whereas Danny and Merritt had grown up in middle class families and Jack and Lula hadn’t grown up with much at all, Henley’s parents had been wealthy business owners with high-class connections. So unlike the rest of them, she’d grown up pretty rich – not that it made her home life any better. It’d taken Henley a while to get used to living on the road with scarce funds and space, but she’d taken it all in stride. But every once in a while, she’d turn up her nose towards a cheap place to eat or the shady side of town and remind everyone how she’d grown up.

Lula could tell Henley hated being like that, so no one really held it against her. It wasn’t her fault. Jack, as their resident street urchin, was the only person allowed to tease her about being rich.

Jack snickered again, and Henley ruffled his hair before shoving him away. “Shut it, Wilder,” she said with a smile. “Let’s go inside.”

“Aren’t you going to wait for me?” Danny asked, still packing his bag in the van.

“Nope!” Henley called back.

They entered the lobby right as Dylan turned away from the counter, some plastic cards in his hand. When he caught sight of the kids, he grinned and gestured them over.

“Here,” he said, handing cards to them. “These are our room keys. Henley and Lula get one room, the boys get the other. Our rooms are connected.”

“Connected?” Lula asked, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”

“Is Merritt still in the bathroom?” Jack asked, glancing towards the side hall.

Dylan nodded and handed Jack two extra cards. “Take these to him and Danny, will you?” he asked. “We’ll dump our stuff in the room first, and then you kids can go run around or whatever you want. Stay safe though, alright? Atlanta isn’t exactly the safest city.”

“Neither is New York,” Jack replied with a grin, shuffling off to the bathroom. Dylan watched him go before turning to the girls. “And you two? How are my girls doing, huh?”

“Can we go up to the room now? Please, please pretty please?” Lula asked, jumping up and down. She wasn’t sure how a card was supposed to open their door, and she still didn’t know what “connecting rooms” meant, but she was super excited. Unlike Lula, Jack had spent his entire life in New York, so he knew a decent amount about hotels despite never really staying in one. Lula had barely been in any kind of big city like that until she started traveling with Dylan; circuses couldn’t really fit their whole entourage in a place like downtown New York or Chicago.

Dylan just shook his head, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he said, ruffling her hair. Then he turned to Henley and said, “Rooms 408 and 410. Try not to trash the place before I get up there.”

“No promises,” Henley said with a wink. She grabbed Lula’s hand, and the two of them started walking towards the elevator.

“You’ve seriously never been in a hotel before,” Henley said, almost like she was still trying to believe it. “Damn, Lula.”

“I _know_ , it’s so cool!” Lula couldn’t seem to stop grinning. She jumped forward and hit the up button on the elevator panel as Jack sprinted out the doors to the van. “Do they really have tiny little soaps and stuff that you can use? And like, do they put chocolate on your bed? I saw them do that once in a movie. Also, how are cards supposed to open the doors? Are they like, magnetic or something, like credit cards? Does that mean Jack can’t pick the locks? And what does connecting mean? I mean obviously it means the rooms are connected but _how_ are they connected? And how are our rooms connected if their numbers aren’t next to each other? Wouldn’t 409 be in between them? And–”

“Lula, oh my god,” Jack said, running up behind her and laughing. “Did you even stop talking when I ran outside?”

“No, she didn’t,” Henley replied. “And Lula – yes, they have tiny soaps, I don’t know if they have chocolates, yes the cards are magnetic. And for connecting rooms, you’ll see.”

“You don’t know what _connecting rooms_ are?” Jack asked as the elevator doors dinged open. “Lula, they’re obviously _rooms_ that are _connected_.”

“Shut up!” Lula shoved Jack into the elevator, she and Henley following. Henley pressed the level four button, and the elevator closed.

“So…” Lula chewed her lip. “I’m guessing the room’s floor level is the hundreds part. Right?”

“Genius, this one,” Jack said, still snarky. Lula punched him, and he laughed.

“Yes, you’re right,” Henley said, obviously exasperated. “How are you always so hyper?”

“I have ADHD, Henley. It’s a mental disorder.”

“That was rhetorical.”

Jack rolled his eyes as the elevator doors dinged open again, revealing a different floor. They all stepped out, lugging their packs.

“Pretty sure we all have mental disorders,” Jack continued, flipping his card around in his hand. “Pretty sure Danny has like ten.”

“As the only person who knew him before our magical get-together – yes, yes he does,” Henley confirmed. Then she sighed, staring at her feet. “God, our lives sucked before this, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.” Jack rubbed his elbow – he knew more about his life sucking than any of them. Lula wished he didn’t. He didn’t deserve that.

“But hey, look where we are now!” Lula said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Traveling in a cramped van, staying in two-star hotels?” Henley asked.

“No, our rooms, genius.” Lula grinned and stopped in front of rooms 408 and 410. _The even sided rooms are all on the same side, I get it now_ , Lula thought. Jack and Henley grinned, brandishing their cards.

“Let’s go inside, shall we?”


	5. Atlanta, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of a short chapter, sorry, but i stayed up until 1:30 am plotting this whole story out so hold onto your horses
> 
> here comes Thaddeus Bradley >:)

It took Lula about ten minutes to finally stop shrieking and jumping around every time she saw something new in the hotel rooms.

First it was the beds, then it was the little balcony outside the giant windows with the huge thick curtains, then it was the stuff on the night stands and the cool lamps, then it was the bathroom, then it was the little mini soaps and toiletries, then it was super cool and high-tech looking shower, then it was all the cabinets, then it was the Bible in the nightstand drawer (she was more confused than excited about that), then it was the mini fridge, then it was all the stuff in the mini fridge that she apparently wasn’t allowed to touch, then it was the coffeemaker, then–

You get the idea.

Jack just dumped his stuff on the floor and flopped down on one of the beds, kicking off his shoes and spreading his arms and legs out as far as they could go. He couldn’t remember the last time he was on a bed this big. Maybe never. He felt like he was in heaven.

By the time Lula stopped freaking out (mostly), the rest of the van squad had gotten to the rooms. They’d already opened the connecting doors (“Oh, so _that’s_ how it works,” Lula had said before jumping around again), so Jack could hear the older boys in the other room, dumping stuff on the floor and sitting down on the beds. Jack, according to Henley, was currently lying spread eagle on _Lula’s_ bed.

“Jack, come get in here and claim a spot before I take over the entire room,” Merritt yelled. Jack groaned and sat up.

“How come the girls get their own beds and we have to share?” Jack asked indignantly.

“Yeah, actually, that’s a good question,” Danny said. “Dylan, why do we have to share beds?”

“Because I said so, that’s why,” Dylan replied.

“GUYS, THEY HAVE TINY LITTLE CREAMERS FOR THE COFFEE!” Lula shouted from somewhere, obviously still excited.

“Lula, don’t touch any of those, we have to pay extra for it!” Dylan yelled back.

“That’s bullshit!”

“Aren’t you twelve? Quit cursing! Danny, stop using foul language in front of Lula.”

“What the fuck, I didn’t even say anything!”

Henley snickered, falling onto her own bed, and Jack had to laugh with her.

“Oh, also,” Dylan continued, “there’s a pull out couch in the boy’s room.”

“It’s mine!” Merritt yelled. Jack looked up and saw Dylan raise an eyebrow.

“I was going to take it, but okay, sure Merritt,” Dylan said.

“You sir, drive the van, so you get your own bed,” Merritt replied. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

Dylan shrugged and smiled, tossing his backpack onto his own bed. A cloth Walgreens bag of what was probably the van’s dwindling food supply sat on the ground next to it.

“Once everyone gets settled, you can head out and do whatever,” Dylan said, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto his bed. “Don’t get into trouble, please.”

“Us, getting into trouble? How ridiculous,” Danny quipped back. “Honestly Dylan, we’re the least troublesome people on the planet, how could you say that about us?”

Dylan just groaned into his pillow, already trying to fall asleep.

“Hey, can I share Lula’s bed?” Jack asked, hopping down so he could put his shoes on. “Danny kicks in his sleep. And he snores.”

“I do not!”

“We all sleep in the same goddamn van, Danny,” Henley reminded him, off her bed now and unpacking some of her stuff already.

“Shut up, Henley, you snore too!”

“Yes, but mine are delicate lady snores. You sound like a mountain lion.”

Everyone laughed again, and Danny vowed revenge from the other room as Jack ran over to Lula.

“Let’s go explore,” he said, grinning. Lula nodded and grinned back.

“Okay!” she said. “DYLAN, JACK AND I ARE LEAVING!”

“BE SAFE!”

“WE WILL!”

The two of them slipped out the door with their key cards in their pockets and ran down the hall towards the elevator.

* * *

Jack and Lula were pleased to find that the hotel was directly across from a strip mall. Perfect for setting up shop and performing a few tricks. They could make some money, draw more crowds for their show tomorrow, up ticket sales, and increase popularity. They weren’t a very well-known group (Dylan wanted to keep it that way so Tressler wouldn’t find them as easily), but the more people knew, the more people came. Every performer knew that.

Plus, if they got enough cash, they could buy dinner for everyone at the McDonald’s down the road.

“Okay, so,” Jack said, glancing around. There weren’t that many people out because of the cold, unfortunately. It didn’t bother Jack that much, but Lula had her face buried in her scarf and her arms wrapped tightly around her body. She was never too great with being cold.

“I take it back, let’s not do a magic show,” Lula said. “Or explore, actually. Let’s just go inside a store and sit there for an hour. Where it’s warm. Do they sell hot chocolate at McDonalds?”

“Probably? There’s a Dunkin Donuts right next to it.”

“Let’s go there.”

“No way in hell am I letting you have sugar.”

“Jack, you’re not Dylan. No bossing me around.”

“Hey, nerds!”

Jack and Lula turned to see Henley running up to meet them, Danny and Merritt close behind and panting heavily. Henley, amazing person she was, could outrun everyone but Jack, even in heels. No wonder Lula idolized her; Jack idolized her too. Not as much as Danny, of course, but close.

“Hi Henley!” she said excitedly, her smile peeking out from her scarf. “Whatcha doing?”

“We decided to join you,” Henley said. Danny and Merritt stopped close behind her, chests heaving. Henley pulled her beanie down over her ears and smiled. “Didn’t want you guys running around on your own in the cold.”

“That’s a lie, we left because Dylan started snoring,” Merritt interrupted.

Henley shrugged. “That too.”

“It’s not actually that cold out,” Jack said absentmindedly. Everyone stared at him like he was crazy. “What?”

“You’re so weird,” Danny said.

“No, I’m not, you guys are just weak.”

“Can we go inside?” Lula interrupted. “Please?”

There were four nods of agreement, and everyone began heading over to the Dunkin Donuts for coffee and hot chocolate. As soon as they stepped inside, they were met with a blast of hot air that nearly burned Jack’s face off. What was with people down here and needing to be hot all the time?

“Much better,” Lula sighed, slipping into an empty booth. There weren’t that many people in here either, thankfully, so they didn’t have to wait long for their drinks. They all crowded into the booth by the window, Merritt handing Lula her hot chocolate, and stared out into the cold.

“I wish it would snow,” Jack muttered, sipping his drink. Danny just shook his head and took another swig of coffee.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Only you would want it to snow, Jack, just saying,” Danny replied. “I mean, think about it. If it snows down here, we can’t go anywhere. We live in a _van_ , remember?”

“Yeah, but _snow_!” Jack said. “Snowball fights! Snowmen! Snow angels! It’s like the best part of winter, man.”

“Wrong, the best part of winter is the hot chocolate,” Lula said, sandwiched between Henley and the window. She leaned forward and smirked at Jack, who was sitting on Henley’s other side. “Obviously.”

“Wrong, all of you are so wrong.”

“Guys, shh!”

The beginnings of laughter at the table were cut off, everyone staring at Henley. Had she just told them to ‘shh?’ Why?

“Henley? What’s–” Danny began, but she cut him off, glaring over Lula’s head out the window. Jack followed her gaze outside; what was she looking at?

He caught sight of an older guy, maybe in his early fifties, wearing a black wool trench coat and fedora. The man was standing in the middle of the strip mall parking lot, looking across the street at their hotel.

Henley seemed frozen next to Jack.

“Who is he?” Jack asked quietly. The man glanced around before crossing the street, heading right for the hotel. What did he want at their hotel?

“His name is Thaddeus Bradley,” Henley said, glaring at the man until he stepped in the hotel doors. “He’s a Private Eye from L.A., specializing in magicians. My parents have him on speed dial.”

“Why?” Danny asked, but Jack saw Merritt’s eyes widen in realization.

“They sent him after you, didn’t they?” he said, watching Henley. She nodded, her mouth a tight line.

“The only reason I know him is because my parents sent him after a few of my magician friends. He’d debunk them or get them arrested, and my parents would use that as an excuse to keep me from doing magic. ‘You’re hanging with the wrong crowd’ bullshit. When I ran, they…” She gritted her teeth. “God I hate them.”

“Let me guess,” Merritt continued, “they didn’t want anyone finding out their daughter had run away to be a magician. Tarnish the family name.”

“Yep.” Henley looked ready to kill someone. Jack inched away from her, just slightly. “He’s probably been looking for me for the past year.”

“How hasn’t he found us yet?” Lula asked.

“The Eye,” Danny reminded her. “It protects us from Tressler figuring out who we are. Maybe it does the same for other people looking for us too?”

“Oh, they’d definitely keep him from finding us,” Henley spat. “He hates magicians. He spends all his time debunking them and getting them locked away. If my parents sent him after me, and he found out I was traveling with you guys, he’ll probably want to get rid of all of us, not just–” Henley suddenly stopped short, staring at the hotel.

“What?” Lula asked, but Jack had already figured it out.

“Dylan,” he said.

The five Horsemen looked at each other before scrambling out of the booth, sprinting out of the Dunkin Donuts and into the cold, drinks forgotten behind them.


	6. Thaddeus Bradley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look who it is. this asshole.  
> Thaddeus Bradley is full on villain in this au btw guys, so have fun with that. and henley needs love and support. just give her hugs, okay? lots of hugs.  
> enjoy

Dylan was dreaming when someone knocked on the door.

He was dreaming about his dad – he usually dreamed about his dad. They were the only happy childhood memories he had. His dad letting him sit back stage during a magic show, his dad teaching him card tricks, his dad sitting on the couch with his mom telling them stories about ancient magicians. He remembered his mom, cooking dinner one day, telling Dylan she’d fallen in love with the most magical man she’d ever met. He remembered wishing he’d fall in love with someone like that too.

The knock on the door awoke him just before the end, which was probably a good thing. Dreams like that usually ended with his father getting thrown into a river in a safe and never coming out. With his mom dying penniless trying to send him through college. He was too old to be adopted, and what family he had wouldn’t want him anyway. His mother’s family didn’t approve of her marriage to a magician. Dylan was just a byproduct of their disappointment.

Whoever was at the door knocked again, and Dylan groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Probably one of the kids. They must’ve forgotten their key card in the room. He sighed and stood up, walking over to the door.

“You know,” he said, unbolting the door, “you’d think that kids with such a skill for cards would know to remember their room keys, but–”

He opened the door and looked out, expecting to see Danny or Merritt, but the face he saw instead froze him in shock.

“Afternoon, Dylan,” said Thaddeus Bradley. He quirked his head to one side and gave the younger man a smirk. “Can I come in?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dylan growled, his hand curled into a fist. He hadn’t seen this guy in years, not since that night on the river, and he’d hoped to keep it that way. Apparently, life had other plans for him. Typical.

Bradley feigned hurt shock, putting his hand over his heart. “Oh, Dylan,” he said, “I’m sorry, are you not happy to see me?”

“Get out,” he replied, moving to slam the door shut. Bradley just wedged his foot in the crack and held it open with one arm.

“I’m here to talk about the girl, Shrike,” he said.

“What girl?”

“Henley Reeves. Isn’t she a part of your crew?”

Dylan paused. Henley? What did Thaddeus want to do with Henley?

“I assume you already know the answer to that,” Dylan replied, still pressing the door against Bradley’s foot. “What do you want with her?”

“Let me in and I’ll tell you. I’d rather not have my foot crushed while we talk, if that’s alright with you.”

Dylan Shrike clenched his jaw; he wasn’t falling for that. Obviously Bradley wanted something, something other than Henley. Otherwise, why would he be here? Maybe he thought Dylan would give her up. Or maybe he just came here to gloat. It wouldn’t really surprise him.

No way to find out with Thaddeus Bradley wedged in his doorframe, though. Dylan sighed and opened the door, letting the man in.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said, closing the door behind him. Thaddeus gave a nod, glancing around the room curiously. Dylan crossed his arms and watched him carefully, not about to let him plant or steal anything that’d put them in danger.

“Nice little place, Dylan,” Bradley said, finally turning to face him. “You always stay in dumps like this?”

“Get to the point, Bradley. What do you want with Henley?”

The man just sighed and shook his head, taking off his hat. “Patience is a virtue, Dylan,” he replied. “You don’t have it. Then again, neither did your father, so I’m not sure what I expected.”

“Mention my father again and I’ll give you a one way trip to the asphalt through that window,” Dylan spat through gritted teeth. “Henley. Explain.”

Bradley rolled his eyes. “Touchy, touchy. Fine. Her parents hired me to get her back for a fine sum of money. I was wondering if you wanted to share that with me.”

“You mean give her back to those gargoyles that taught her to hate herself? Piss off, Bradley.”

The man chuckled. “Didn’t think so. Just checking.”

Dylan continued to eye Thaddeus, rage boiling in his stomach. “If you didn’t think I was gonna give her up, what are you doing here?”

“Giving you a warning.” Bradley put his hat back on and put both hands in his pockets. “Tomorrow’s show won’t be going as planned. Better have an escape route or two ready.”

“Escape route?” Dylan asked. “Why are you warning us about your own damn attack–”

“I’m not the only one hunting you, Shrike,” Thaddeus interrupted. “There are powerful people who want you and your Horsemen. Very powerful people. I’d watch your back if I were you.”

“Oh you would, would you?” Dylan scowled. “Why warn us? If you don’t like us so much, these people are probably doing you a favor.”

“I’d rather keep you in my playing field for now – at least until I get what I want.”

Dylan gripped the sleeves of his shirt, knuckles white. “You mean Henley.”

“I mean all of you, Dylan. Reeves is my prize, the chip I trade in for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. You and the rest of the Horsemen, that’s just pure satisfaction.”

His stomach twisted. “You’re sick,” Dylan said. “They’re just kids.”

“No, they’re students. And you’re teaching them to scam people by pulling lies out of their sleeves. Get rid of the teacher, and the students flounder.” Thaddeus smirked and traced the rim of his hat. “I’ve been waiting to nab you for a long time, Shrike.”

“Why? Couldn’t stop with my father? Want to finish the job with me?”

Thaddeus’s eye twitched. “I didn’t kill your father, Dylan, he killed himself,” he replied. “And people still had the nerve to blame me.”

“As they should’ve!”

“Wrong. I lost five million dollars because people felt sorry for little old Dylan Shrike and his poor mother. Five million. I’ve spent a long time getting that back. And now, as luck would have it, I’m getting paid that exact amount for a case involving you.” Thaddeus chuckled and moved towards the door, towards Dylan. “Funny how life works out, isn’t it?”

“Why not just call the cops on us all right now?” Dylan asked, standing his ground. “It wouldn’t be that hard to get us arrested.”

“Oh I know, but the Reeves are a little… high maintenance about things like that.”

It was Dylan’s turn to smirk. “They don’t want their daughter caught up in a police investigation, do they?”

Bradley stepped in close, close enough to make Dylan uncomfortable, and ignored his statement. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you, Dylan,” he said. “You and all those kids. And I’ll be there when it happens.”

“Take a load off, Thad.”

“Oh, I will.” Bradley leaned into Dylan’s face; his breath smelled like Tic Tacs and sour milk. “And you aren’t even going to know what hit you.”

“We’ll see about tha–”

The door lock buzzed and surprised them both, Thaddeus stepping back from Dylan and glancing at the door. It opened, revealing Jack first and then the rest of them. They all glanced between Dylan and Thaddeus, obviously worried, with Henley watching Bradley like a hawk.

Silence, for a moment.

“Hi kids,” Dylan said, trying to appear nonchalant. He had a feeling it didn’t come off that way.

“Hi Dylan,” Lula replied, giving him a smile. “You okay?”

“Absolutely.” He turned to Bradley and gave him a dangerous look. “This man was just leaving.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, Dylan glaring at him full force. _There’s six of us and one of you_ , he thought. _You make a move, we’ll beat you. Leave._

For his credit, Bradley seemed to get the message. He tipped his hat towards Dylan and moved towards the door, the kids parting to let him through.

He smiled at Henley, looking for all the world like a grinning shark. “Hello, Reeves,” he said.

Henley’s jaw tightened, but Dylan saw Danny step in front of her, just slightly, and give Bradley a glare that rivaled Dylan’s own. The older man smirked and turned away, walking down the hall and out of sight. The kids watched him go and slowly filed into the room.

“Don’t forget, Dylan,” Thaddeus Bradley called. “Escape routes.”

Merritt slammed the door shut behind them.

* * *

“How much did you hear?” Dylan asked, knowing full well the kids had probably been listening into their conversation from outside the door. They weren’t stupid. “Guys? You saw him come in, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, we saw him,” Merritt said, bolting and chaining the door shut. “Outside. Which reminds me, we left our coffee in Dunkin Donuts.”

“Really, Merritt?” Lula asked, giving him an exasperated look. He just shrugged.

“We heard most of it, I think,” Danny said, picking up where Merritt left off. “We heard you threaten to throw him out the window, and then he tried to bribe you into giving up Henley, and then–”

“Yeah, you heard most of it,” Dylan interrupted before Danny could keep talking. He glanced at Henley. “You okay?”

She shrugged, staring at the floor. Her arms were wrapped around her waist and she looked like she wanted to disappear, something Henley Reeves never wanted to do. If Dylan didn’t know any better, he’d say she looked guilty.

_About what?_

“This wasn’t your fault, Henley,” Dylan said.

“Well, he was looking for me, so yeah, it kind of was,” she replied, glaring at the carpet.

“Hey,” Dylan said, “nothing happened. He didn’t try to kill me or anything, okay?”

“Yeah but…” She pushed her hair behind her ears and shakily sucked in a breath. “It’s… if it wasn’t for my _stupid parents_ hiring him to find me, then we wouldn’t have to worry about someone else chasing us, and then–”

“Henley, hey, come on.” Dylan walked over and wrapped Henley in a hug, knowing full well she needed it. Henley rarely got like this, but when she did, it was bad. Really bad. Dylan wondered if her parents ever tried to comfort her. He doubted it – they were usually the cause of the problem in the first place.

“Look,” he said, “we’re not going to let him take you back, okay? No way in hell. I’ll die before that happens, you know that right?”

He felt Henley smile against his chest. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Besides,” Merritt said, leaning against the wall, “five million isn’t nearly enough to give you up. Now, if he were offering _twenty_ million, then I’d start considering it.”

Henley laughed, and so did everyone else. Danny just rolled his eyes.

“Twenty million, Merritt? Really?” Danny asked. “I’d give her up for two dollars and a pack of gum.”

“Daniel Atlas, I swear to god, I’m going to kick your ass,” Henley said, turning to glare at him, but she was still smiling. Danny just gave her a grin and stuck his hands in his pockets.

Dylan shook his head. “You kids are crazy,” he said.

“Comes with the territory, Dylan,” Jack answered.

“Yeah,” Lula said, “we live in a van and do magic tricks for a living. And I’m _twelve_. We’re all crazy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re my kind of crazy,” Henley said, pulling away from Dylan to go rub Lula’s head. The younger girl beamed and hugged Henley too, burying her face into Henley’s stomach.

“Alright, alright,” Merritt said, “that’s enough sappy family time for me. If you want to continue it, go to your own room.”

Lula gave Merritt a smug grin. “You’re just jealous because I get to hug Henley,” she said.

“That is a total lie, you little demon.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yuh huh!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Guys, please,” Dylan said, rubbing his temples. Back to usual, then. He liked the room better when there wasn’t anyone in it but him.

“Hey, Dylan?” Jack asked. “Can we talk about what he meant by ‘escape routes?’”

The room went quiet, all eyes on Dylan, and he sighed. Now was as good a time to explain as any.

“Alright, since you listened through the door, you all know this,” he said. “Bradley came to tip us off about the show tomorrow getting attacked.”

“Who do you think by?” Henley asked.

“I don’t know. My only guess is Tressler, but how he’d know about the show is beyond me. Bradley said we should be prepared, have escape routes planned and everything.”

“And you believe him?” Danny asked.

Dylan shrugged; he wasn’t sure what to believe at the moment. “I don’t know, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. We’re not blowing off the show – if Bradley’s warning was fake, that was probably his intention anyway. Besides, the Oglethorpe crew got us hotel rooms. We owe them.”

“So, what, escape routes?” Lula asked. “We just need to be prepared in case Tressler and his army of minions tries to kidnap us and use us for spare parts?”

“He wouldn’t use us for spare parts,” Jack corrected. “He’d use us to rob banks or infiltrate the Eye.”

“I know, Jack, I don’t actually think Tressler is going to harvest our organs and sell them on the Internet.” Lula paused, considering the thought. “Actually, he’d probably make a decent amount of money that way–”

“Okay, back on topic,” Merritt said. Dylan shot him a _thank you_ glance – Lula had the tendency to get carried away sometimes. “So, be prepared? That’s the plan?”

Dylan shrugged. “As good of a plan as I can think of. Jack, can you go to Oglethorpe and plan out a few escape routes? Tell me where you want to park the van.”

“Got it.” Jack winked and shot finger guns at Dylan. “Easy as pie.”

“Thank you. Lula, go with him please.”

Lula hissed, “Yes!” and fist bumped Jack. “We get to find escape routes, hell yeah. I feel like a spy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Dylan turned to the others. “You three are buying groceries, got it?”

They groaned, and Dylan almost smiled.

“They get to be spies, and we’re buying groceries?” Danny asked, crossing his arms. “Yeah Dylan, real subtle about who your favorites are.”

“I have no favorites, Atlas, shut it. Except Henley.”

Henley gave Atlas a winning smile and flipped her hair, walking into the girls’ room. Everyone claimed Henley was Dylan’s favorite, even though that wasn’t really true. He just liked her best as navigator because she could read a map and not freak out if they got lost. However, teasing Daniel Atlas was something Dylan liked too. It was funny.

Danny huffed and gave Dylan a half-hearted glare. Merritt, after Dylan slipped him a few twenties and fifties to pay for the groceries, grabbed Atlas’s arm and pulled him towards the door.

“Come on, Danny-boy, let’s go get two full carts of non-perishables,” he said. Danny-boy just groaned again and let himself get pulled away.

“Hey Dylan?” Henley asked, peeking her head through the connecting door. Jack and Lula walked past, already jabbering about their next adventure through Oglethorpe.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Thanks.”

She gave him a soft smile, the kind that usually meant more than it was on the surface, and slipped out of the room before he could ask what for. Dylan sat on his bed, the room quiet again.

 _Thanks_ , she’d said. _Probably for not selling her out to her parents_. Dylan sighed and leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. _I wonder if they would’ve given her up for five million dollars_.

Dylan decided not to dwell on it; thinking about those kids’ families made his blood boil, and he couldn’t go back to sleep if he was angry. Instead, he pushed the thought away and leaned back against the pillow, exhaustion taking over.

 _I hope Bradley is lying_ , he thought, drifting off to sleep.

Unfortunately for them, he wasn’t.


	7. Oglethorpe University

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for all the nice comments! they make my day every time i see them, honestly. i'm glad you like this mess of a fanfic
> 
> also, like i said, i spent a much greater chunk of time than i anticipated plotting this out. whoops. get ready for some fun, y'all. and adorableness. and angst. it's all coming.
> 
> enjoy

J. Daniel Atlas was the Horsemen’s leader on stage, and that was definitely how he liked it.

Granted, when he was offstage, he couldn’t always control his little tics and… problems (Dylan had offered to get meds for him, but Danny said no, they cost too much money and he could deal with the issues on his own), but on stage? It was like he was a whole other person. The feeling was almost surreal; as long as he was performing, he could be and do anything he wanted. When he was himself, he, well… couldn’t.

Not that anyone needed to know that. Least of all the audience.

“You okay, Danny?” Jack asked, giving him a weird look. They were sitting behind the stage, getting ready to go on, and Daniel’s fingers couldn’t stop twitching. He was nervous – what if the escape plans didn’t work? What if they actually _were_ captured during the show today? They all knew what kind of person Tressler was, and if he got his hands on any of them…

“Danny?” Jack asked again, pulling him back.

“What?” he asked. “Oh, sorry. Yeah I’m, uh, I’m fine. Can we go over the escape routes one more time?”

Jack gave him another weird look, but he nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Ace?”

“Backstage, through the tech shop, trapdoor in the floor, tunnel. Straight then right. Up through the manhole cover.” Each route had a trigger word, which someone would say if something wasn’t right. Four routes, all different, all leading to the warehouse next to campus they’d hidden the van. A dupe was hidden in the college’s nearby parking garage.

“Good. King?”

“Through the crowd, out the theater doors, into the shrubbery. Through and around the buildings. Find the south wall, slip through the grate, sprint to the warehouse.”

“Queen?”

“Emergency exit, through the science building, out the west gate, behind the Walmart.”

“Jack?”

“Trapdoor onstage, split up in prop storage, climb to the roof, go down huge pipe that leads over the wall, land near the warehouse.”

“Good, you got them all.” Jack gave him an easy smile. “We’re going to be fine, you know that right?”

Danny nodded and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “Yeah, I know. Just… this is a little stressful.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

Danny raised an eyebrow at Jack and caught him smirking, shoving his face away. “Go steal Merritt’s wallet, kid,” he said. Jack grinned and jumped off the ledge, running off into the dark.

Stupid Jack. Danny had no idea why he kept trying to hang out with him. It’s not like he was very special in real life. On stage, sure, he was the best guy of them all, but they’d all been living together in confined spaces for the past year – the kid _had_ to have figured out Danny wasn’t actually _that great_.

Whatever. The attention was nice.

“Hey Danny!” Henley called from somewhere. Danny whipped his head around, trying to look for her, and saw her at the edge of the stage, gesturing him towards one of the coves. He raised an eyebrow and ran over.

“What?” he asked, slipping into the cove. Then he caught sight of–

Oh.

“Hello again, Danny,” Walter said, grinning like an idiot. He looked just the same as before: neatly trimmed hair, annoying beard, and impeccably dressed. His tailor-made white suit made Danny feel inadequate, despite Danny being just as well dressed _and_ an inch or two taller than him. Henley had her hands in her pockets and was smiling at Walter with that spark in her eye, the one she had when flirting. That annoyed Danny more than anything, but he figured saying that would get him sent to the hospital, so he kept quiet.

“Uh, hello Walter,” Danny said, giving Henley a look. “What uh, what exactly are you doing back here?”

“Oh, Henley pulled me out of the crowd to say hi,” Walter said, smiling at Danny. “Figured, since we met on the highway, I deserved a special greeting from the famous ‘Horsemen,’ right?”

“Absolutely,” Henley said.

“Really?” Danny asked. “I thought Dylan told us not to bring anybody backsta–”

Henley kicked him in the shin, which shut him up real fast, and Walter just chuckled. “Oh don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not here to expose any of your magical tricks or anything. Just, you know, wanted to pop in and say hi!”

The British accent was starting to annoy Danny. So was the suit, and the beard. And everything, really. He nodded, trying to remember to be polite.

“Right,” he said. “Okay. Uh, Henley, it’s almost show time, we should really–”

“Oh, wait!” Walter pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and scribbled something on the back with a pen. Then he held the paper out towards Danny. “Here, something to remember me by.”

Danny was too shocked to move as Walter pressed the card – it felt like a business card – into his hand and left the cove with a wave, going back out to the crowd. Henley gave him a look and pulled the card out of his hand.

“Walter Mabry, IT consultant,” she read. The paper was white and the letters were silver and glossy. You had to turn the card a certain way so the light would reflect off the words and make them visible. “It has a number. Area code in Los Angeles.”

Danny snatched it back and looked at the card, confirming everything Henley said. Then he flipped it over.

In blank ink, the phrase, “call me ;)” was scribbled on the back.

Danny stared.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Henley said, also staring, “he gave his number to _you?_ ”

Danny was just as shocked as she was – mostly because some random guy had just given him his number, which obviously meant he thought he was at least somewhat attractive. Nice ego boost, that. Henley just groaned and put her head in her hands.

Danny never passed up the opportunity to tease Henley Reeves. He slipped the card into his pocket and smirked at her.

“What,” he asked, “jealous?”

“Shut up, Atlas.”

She shoved him aside and stormed through the door towards backstage, obviously fuming. He just chuckled; he could tell her what he really thought about the guy later – that he was an annoying prick. Sure, Danny had no problem with guys in a romantic sense, but not _that_ guy. He was a douche, for sure. And the accent pissed him off.

Besides, he’d already fallen pretty hard for someone. But it wasn’t like he was going to get anywhere with Henley Reeves anyway.

Daniel Atlas sighed and followed Henley back to backstage, rubbing the card in his pocket. It was the first move someone had pulled on him in months, and all this extra time spent with Henley had just solidified his fears of her actually hating him for good reasons. Maybe he should try something new for once. Test the waters.

He shook his head; Danny could worry about that later. Right now, he had a show to lead.

“Ready, guys?” he asked, walking up to the group backstage. Lula, Jack, Merritt, Henley, and Dylan were all there, a space in the circle just for Danny. That made him feel pretty great – his own space, just for him. The Horsemen nodded, Dylan on headset with the booth and run crew. He never did appear on stage, not once, which Danny found to be kind of odd what with his amazing skills, but no one really questioned it. Dylan preferred to work behind the scenes, where no one but his closest friends understood how much he did.

“Alright,” Dylan said, “this is it. If anything goes wrong, I’ll yell out a card, and we all scram. Nothing goes wrong, we’re home free. Now let’s start the show, guys!”

They all nodded and high-fived, Dylan telling the tech crew to start the show, and a few seconds later the lights went down. A near seizure-inducing lightshow followed close behind, with a loud voice introducing the Horsemen by their fake names – Daniel, Merritt, Henley, Jack, and Lula Rhodes. Dylan used the last name Rhodes instead of Shrike as another layer of disguise, and he figured making their troupe sound like an actual family couldn’t hurt. Plus, the thing was a pun (Rhodes? Roads? We live in a van? Get it? Yeah Dylan, hilarious. We all hate you).

Danny breathed in and blew the air out, much less jittery than he’d been a few minutes before. _It’s a show_ , he told himself. _Time to put on the act_.

The lights went dark, the recorded voice boomed, and the five Horsemen jumped through the curtains and into the deafening sound of applause.

* * *

It wasn’t until Danny and Lula’s act that something started going wrong.

“Tell me, Lula,” Danny said, giving his winning smile out to the audience, “what’s the oldest magician’s trick in the book?”

“Oldest as in chronologically or oldest as in overused?” Lula shot back.

“You know what I meant.”

Lula just rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist, a black top hat appearing in her hand. “Why Danny,” she said, “pulling a rabbit out of a hat, of course.”

The audience laughed and clapped, and Danny rolled his eyes, snatching the hat out of Lula’s hand.

“Yes, thank you Lula,” he said. “Now, as I was saying–”

The rest of Danny’s sentence evaporated into thin air as his mic cut off, the lights flickering like they were in a horror movie. Lula tried to say something, but her mic cut off as well. They looked at each other in fear, and the audience stared at them, a few murmuring worriedly to their neighbors, wondering if this was part of the show.

Danny’s blood ran cold. This definitely wasn’t part of the show.

There was a scream from the audience, and then backstage, and then the doors burst open and the lights in the theater went up. Men in black body armor wearing shaded visors ran into the theater, brandishing guns and yelling for everyone to freeze and get down while people screamed in fear.

Danny stared, almost frozen himself, until Lula grabbed his arm and yanked him towards center stage.

“On stage, Jack! Backstage, Queen! Run!” Dylan yelled from behind the curtain. Danny’s senses finally returned to him, and he heard Dylan yell a command to the light booth. A second later, the theater went pitch black.

Lula threw open the trapdoor, and the two of them jumped inside, Danny pulling it shut behind them. Emergency exit alarms blared, and the theater started screaming.

“Go, prop room!” Lula hissed, pushing him down the haphazardly stacked boxes piled up to the trapdoor. They managed to get their feet on the ground and sprinted to the prop room doors, slipping inside before they heard the trapdoor open above them.

“Thanks!” Danny whispered, shoving Lula in the opposite direction. If they split up, they’d lose the attackers easier. Who the hell even _were_ these guys? Tressler’s men? Either way, without Lula on stage, Danny would’ve been toast. “See you soon.”

She nodded and sprinted in between the shelves, slipping under a wooden table as Danny ran for the rack of costumes near the back wall.

His mind was on autopilot as he ran, staying as quiet as possible while men stormed into the prop rooms. Danny’s heart felt like it wanted to burst out of his chest. How the hell did people do this? He could barely breathe, and he’d only been running for like a minute!

 _Jack could probably run for an hour and not get tired_ , he suddenly thought. _Henley can outrun me in heels. This is embarrassing._

“This way! He went this way!” someone behind him yelled. Danny cursed and slid under a backdrop, slipping out the door hidden behind it and running for the stairs.

He managed to get to the roof without being followed, Lula appearing a second later. An industrial plastic tube was strung from the top of the roof, over the wall behind the theater, and out next to the warehouse with their van. Danny gulped, trying to catch his breath as he ran.

“You good?” he asked Lula.

“Yeah!” she replied. “Let’s go!”

They both jumped feet first into the tube and slid down, and for a brief second Danny wondered if everyone else had gotten out okay, or if those men with the guns had gotten to them first.

_Men with guns._

“Lula, those guys had guns!” Danny yelled as they slid down.

“Dude, you’re _just_ realizing this?!”

Lula shrieked in surprise and flew out of the tube onto the ground, Danny practically landing right on top of her. They groaned, clamoring up, and stumbled over to the warehouse.

“They’re here!” someone yelled. Danny realized it was Jack; the kid ran forward and yanked the two of them into the open back of the van, pulling them inside. As soon as they were in, Merritt pulled the doors shut behind them and Dylan, already in the front seat, slammed on the gas and gunned the van out of the warehouse.

Everyone inside screamed as he careened the vehicle onto the road, kids clinging to immovable bed posts and door handles for dear life while toys and cards and the occasional box or piece of furniture flung itself across the van. According to Henley, it didn’t look like they were being followed, but Dylan didn’t drop the van’s speed below ninety-five until they got on the highway.

It took them five minutes to leave the city.

* * *

As soon as they were out of Atlanta, Dylan pulled the van into an Arby’s parking lot and turned off the gas, leaning back into his chair to catch his breath. Everyone else did the same.

Danny, after a minute, spoke fist.

“What the hell just happened?” he asked, chest still heaving. Every part of his body felt like it was made of energy. _Probably the adrenaline_ , he thought, but that didn’t stop him from jittering. “Seriously? Was that Tressler?”

Dylan shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But… well, I guess Bradley was right, huh?”

“They had guns, Dylan!” Merritt said, trying to catch his breath on one of the couches. “Honest to god guns! Do they really want us that bad?”

“I don’t know! Okay? I don’t know.” Dylan sighed and put a hand to his forehead, trying to think. “Look, okay. None of us are hurt, right? Anyone hurt?”

They all glanced at each other, everyone shaking their heads.

“No,” Henley said.

“Okay, good. We have everything? The food? Our stuff?”

“Yeah,” Lula said, already in her bunk, lying on her back and staring at the van’s metal ceiling. “I checked while we were moving.”

“Alright. We’re good then.” Dylan huffed and sat back up, starting the car again, and pulled out of the Arby’s. They went slower this time, Dylan pulling onto the highway and taking them north.

“Do you really think that was Tressler?” Jack asked, sitting in the swivel chair behind Henley. He drummed his fingers on the puny circular table between the four seats. “Could that have been him?”

“It wasn’t any kind of legal law enforcement, I’ll tell you that much,” Dylan replied. “Looked like a private security team. Only about twenty guys or so, but I’m sure Tressler has more. If that was even him.”

“Who else could it be?” Danny asked. “I mean, who else wants us that badly and actually has the funds to pull off a stunt like that?”

Dylan stayed silent for a minute before saying, “I’ll contact the Eye once we find a place to rest. Everyone else… try to sleep.”

Sleep? How were they supposed to sleep? Then again, it was pretty late; their show started at 6 pm, and they’d been running around memorizing escape routes and practicing for the show all day beforehand. That, plus the slow ebbing away of their adrenaline highs and the nighttime sky were starting to give the van a pretty drowsy feel. Danny climbed onto his couch under Henley’s bunk and pulled off his shoes, putting them on the floor next to him and pulling a blanket out from behind the couch cushions.

 _Sleep_ , Dylan said. Danny threw the blanket over himself and tried. _Sleep_.

But Danny knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not after that. They’d almost been captured and killed by faceless men following orders from the person they’d all been hiding from for the past year. And worse, their movements had somehow gone under the Eye’s radar. The Eye was responsible for keeping them safe, keeping them out of Tressler’s grasp, but if things were starting to slip through their net…

Danny had never been that big on faith to begin with, but nothing had shaken him like this. This was huge. Dangerous. How could something this big have gotten past the Eye like that? How did Tressler find them after a year of searching with unlimited resources?

“Hey Jack?” Merritt said, having moved back to his beach chair against the back doors. Jack was now on the couch Merritt had been lounging on a few minutes ago, huddled under a blanket. Lula was above him, still staring at the ceiling, and Danny wondered if she’d be okay. Probably – Lula could shake things off easier than any of them.

“Yeah?” Jack asked, shifting to look at Merritt.

“Thanks for saving my skin there, Jackie-boy,” he said, giving Jack a small grin. Jack returned it and glanced up towards the front seat.

“Hey Henley,” he said, “thanks for saving my life.”

“No prob, Jack,” she said from up front. “Thanks for driving the getaway car, Dylan.”

“Ha, ha,” Dylan responded. Atlas could practically feel Dylan rolling his eyes.

“Hey Lula,” Danny said, looking up at her, “thanks for shoving me down the trapdoor.”

“No prob, smarty-pants,” she replied, turning to smile at him. “But now that I’ve saved your life, you have to serve out the rest of your existence being my personal slave. That’s how it works, you know.”

“Yeah, not going to happen.”

“Lula, you saved Danny’s life?” Henley asked, turning around in the front seat. Danny’s heart skipped a little, but then he saw Henley’s mischievous face and glared at her. “Damn it, what a pity.”

The entire van laughed, and Danny flipped Henley off before laughing too. It felt good to laugh, especially after everything that had just happened. Dylan just shook his head and focused on the road.

Some things never changed.


	8. Enter the Agents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, another chapter! how nice. please note i wrote this at like 1 am and i'm just posting it now so yeah... um
> 
> 1) i stole the consortium from a Dan Brown book  
> 2) Natalie Austin is amazing  
> 3) here comes The Mom FriendTM
> 
> <3

“Cowan, Fuller, I need you in my office. Now.”

Special Agents Cowan and Fuller glanced at each other, both pretty confused, before getting up from their desks and following Deputy Director Natalie Austin out of the room. Neither really understood what the problem was. Were they in trouble? Had she found something about the case they were working on? Either way, her tone wasn’t exactly brimming with kindness and warmth.

Whatever it was, Fuller hoped the situation could be blamed on Cowan. He hated the guy. Not as much as Dylan had hated him, but enough. Working in close quarters with him while they tried to solve a mob boss case had just served to destroy whatever sympathy Fuller might’ve had for the guy. No wonder his friend hated Cowan so much.

 _Dylan Rhodes_ , Fuller thought, following Cowan into the Deputy Director’s room. _Where the hell did you go, anyway?_

“You wanted to see us, boss?” Cowan asked, his nasally voice doing no favors for Fuller’s growing migraine. All the agents called Natalie Austin “boss” – it was easier to say than “Deputy Director Austin,” not to mention a sign of respect. One the boss had earned incredibly well.

Austin didn’t answer, instead focusing on something on her computer. She double clicked with her mouse and turned the monitor around, showing the two men something on the screen.

“Recognize him?” she asked.

Fuller and Cowan did a double take. Was that…

“ _Rhodes?_ ” Cowan said, shocked. Austin nodded and turned the monitor around, gesturing for the agents to join her behind the desk. They did so, crowding next to the screen as she zoomed out of the photo.

“This was seen on a traffic camera in Atlanta last night,” the boss said, showing them the screen. It was an image of a van, dark blue with a bright red banner design that said “Horsemen” on it. Dylan Rhodes was driving.

“What the hell?” Fuller said.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Austin switched screens to show them something else. “Yesterday, a group of magicians called the Horsemen was performing at Oglethorpe’s theater. In the middle of the show, the place was stormed by men wearing unmarked body armor wielding guns. The Horsemen managed to make it out alive. A duplicate of the Horseman van was found in the Oglethorpe parking lot, completely empty, and as soon as the Horsemen escaped, the attackers vanished.”

Natalie Austin pulled up another image; this one seemed to be a newspaper clipping from a few months ago. At the top, over the headline “Magic in Martinsville: The Horsemen Amaze,” it showed the six Horsemen standing next to their van, dressed in all black with various magic gimmick props in their hands. Most of them seemed to be kids – two looked around eleven or twelve, two more looked to be in their teens, and one was probably in his young twenties. Rhodes was the oldest one there, in his mid-thirties if Fuller remembered correctly.

“This is the Horsemen?” Cowan asked, staring at the screen. Austin nodded. “What is Rhodes doing running around with a bunch of kid magicians? I thought he quit last year for family problems!”

“According to this, that’s not a lie,” she replied. The boss pointed to the bottom of the image, where it said: _The Horsemen, left to right – Merritt, Daniel, Jack, Lula, Henley, and Dylan Rhodes._

“Rhodes doesn’t have kids,” Fuller said immediately.

Austin nodded. “I’m aware,” she said. “In fact, both his parents are dead, and he has no siblings or other close family. Whatever excuse Dylan used to quit the FBI was obviously fake.”

“What about the kids?” Fuller asked. “Do you know who they are?”

Austin nodded. “That one,” she said, pointing at the youngest boy, “is a foster kid runaway. The girl isn’t in the system. The redhead we couldn’t find anything for.” She pointed at the teenage boy. “He’s a runaway from Chicago.” And finally, she pointed at the last guy. “This one’s a college dropout from New Orleans.”

“Orphans and runaways, what do you know,” Cowan said, obviously feeling smug. “I always knew Rhodes would end up in some shady business like this.”

“Cowan, trust me,” Austin interrupted, “this isn’t the shadiest part.”

“How is this not the shadiest part? This is perfect!”

Fuller glared at Cowan, and Cowan gave him another smug look. “What?” he asked.

Fuller rolled his eyes and turned back to the computer, refusing to respond.

Dick.

“The attack on the show was well-planned and well-funded, and the Horsemen had escape routes prepared, which means they knew this was coming. So either someone warned them, or they’ve been running from someone for the past year. Considering they’ve been on the move for that long and only perform at small venues, I’m thinking it’s the latter.”

“Why would someone be hunting a bunch of magician kids?” Fuller asked. The boss didn’t answer, instead pulling up the forensics report on the attack at Oglethorpe.

“Courtesy of the APD,” Austin said. _Atlanta Police Department_. This should be good.

“According to forensics and witness reports,” she continued, “One of the men who stormed the building had this sign on his belt.” She pulled up an image that Fuller recognized.

“Hey,” he said, “isn’t that the symbol for the Consortium?”

“The what?” Cowan asked, peering at the image.

“The Consortium,” Fuller continued. “Secret international organization that does anything you want for the right price? The FBI’s been investigating them for years, Cowan.”

“Oh, them?” Cowan raised an eyebrow. “I thought we shut that case.”

“The only reason we shut it is because our own government uses the Consortium too,” the boss said, obviously pretty bitter. “Along with the super rich and wealthy criminals. But the Consortium isn’t important – it’s who’s using the Consortium to do their dirty work. And I think I know who it is.”

Fuller and Cowan both looked at the boss, knowing exactly what was coming.

“No,” was all Fuller could say.

Natalie Austin nodded. “Arthur Tressler.”

“Tressler?!” Cowan practically yelled. “Seriously? I thought you were over that scumbag!”

“Talk a little louder, Cowan, I don’t think they heard you in Vermont,” the boss snapped, giving him a glare. He immediately shut his mouth. As big of a jerk Cowan was, he didn’t want Austin getting put under investigation for trying to take down Tressler. Again. Back when Dylan was still in the FBI, the three of them were the only ones the Deputy Director could really trust with this case – Tressler had people in the FBI and the U.S. government, and he didn’t really like someone trying to make him account for his criminal dealings. Two years ago, he’d caught wind of what they were doing and the FBI Director had put a stop to their investigation. Apparently, the boss still hadn’t given up trying to nail him.

Not that Fuller could blame her. Tressler was a Grade A scumbag, and he had it coming. He just wished Dylan were still here. Taking down Tressler was the only reason Rhodes and Cowan ever willingly worked together. With his friend gone, it was just Fuller. Alone.

But now Rhodes was back in the playing field, somehow connected to Arthur Tressler and traveling with a squad of miniature Houdinis. Fuller, just like everyone else in this room, wanted answers.

What the hell did Rhodes think he was doing?

“How are you sure it’s Tressler?” Cowan asked, crossing his arms. “He’s not the only one that uses the Consortium, boss, I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“Please watch the tone, Cowan, I got two hours of sleep and I can snap your neck with one arm,” the boss deadpanned. Cowan scowled but stayed silent, and Fuller just smirked; god, he loved Natalie Austin.

“What do we know about Arthur Tressler, huh?” Austin asked, watching them both. “You remember, right?”

“It’s been a while, boss, give us a second,” Fuller said. He racked his brain, dredging up two-year-old memories. “Uh… wait, he hates magicians, right?”

“He kidnaps young magicians and trains them to be his little spies. Did I remember that correctly?” Cowan asked.

Austin nodded. “Yes, he does,” she said, gesturing towards the screen. The picture of the Horsemen was pulled up again. Kid magicians. Of course.

“You really think it was him?” Fuller asked, his heart thrumming in his chest.

The boss nodded. “I didn’t want to believe it, but one of the techies claimed the younger kids had been talking about someone named Tressler backstage. I saw it in the case file under witness testimonies. It can’t be a coincidence.”

Fuller nodded, knowing the boss was thorough and skeptic enough to only believe something like this after intense scrutiny. If she believed it, he did too.

Then Cowan reminded them of one little fact.

“What do you think Rhodes is doing in the middle of all this?” he asked, pointing to their former colleague in the grainy photo. “He left a year after the case closed, and now he shows up here? Like this? You still don’t think he’s one of Tressler’s spies?”

Fuller bristled at the thought, but the boss had it covered. “Trust me, Cowan,” she said, “he isn’t one of Tressler’s. I know.”

“How can you still be so sure? He’s–”

“Tressler Insurance denied his mother’s claim for insurance money after his father died,” Fuller spat. “His mother died penniless trying to put him through college because of Arthur Tressler. He hates him, Cowan. Alright? Stop trying to make it seem like my friend is a criminal.”

Cowan stopped, staring at Fuller for a moment. Then he turned to the boss. “Why didn’t you tell me that?” he asked.

“We figured you were too much of an ass to actually take it into consideration,” she replied.

Cowan actually had the indecency to look offended.  “Excuse me?!”

“Boss, seriously,” Fuller said, drawing the conversation away from Cowan, “why do you think Dylan’s in the middle of all this? Do you think he quit so he could get Tressler on his own?”

“Maybe,” she said, staring at the photo. “Doesn’t explain the kids though.”

“Maybe he’s using them to draw Tressler out.”

“Do you really think he’d do that? Put kids’ lives in danger just to draw out one man?”

Fuller paused and considered it, then shook his head. “No,” he said, “Dylan wouldn’t do that.”

“I don’t think so either,” she said. “Which makes this all more confusing.”

The three of them fell silent, staring at Austin’s computer screen, before Cowan finally sighed impatiently.

“Alright, so,” he said, “what are we going to do about this?”

Austin crossed her arms and exhaled. “We’re going to find Dylan,” she said. “Him and his little troupe of magicians. We’ll tell the Bureau we’re looking into it because of his relationship with the kids, but in reality we need to find out what he’s doing and what he knows about Tressler. Once we know that, we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

“Just us?” Fuller asked, dread sinking to the pit of his stomach.

The boss shrugged. “Just us. Unless you know someone who for sure isn’t working for Tressler.”

Fuller and Cowan both shook their heads, and then Fuller stopped short, remembering something. Two years ago, after the case had been shut down, Fuller had called in a favor to someone he happened to know from a friend’s wedding. If he could get in touch with her again…

“I uh…” He rubbed his hand over his bald spot, trying to think this through. “I think I might actually.”

Cowan gave him a look. “Someone in the FBI?” he asked.

Fuller grinned. “Try France.”

* * *

Interpol Agent Alma Dray was sifting through another tome about the Eye when she saw her superior officer walk in the door of the research office.

She quickly shut the book and shoved it into the bottom shelf of her organizer, shifting some papers in front of it so it was well hidden. At least her cubicle had a view of the door so she could see the man coming. It’s not like she was going against orders or anything, but she didn’t exactly want people knowing about her slight obsession with a supposed magician cult. Things were hard enough for her at Interpol as it was, being a woman. This would just tip the scales too far.

The man walked immediately towards Alma’s cubicle, and she gave him a weird look. What did he want with her? Another case to research?

“Dray,” the man said in French, “there’s a call on the line for you. American FBI. They want you in the states as soon as possible.”

“What? Why?” she asked.

The guy shrugged. “Didn’t ask,” he said. “They’ll explain on the phone. Tell me whether or not you’re accepting the case, and we’ll get you tickets to D.C. Alright?”

Alma blinked. Someone in the FBI wanted _her?_ Why? She was just a researcher, a desk agent. How the hell could she help the FBI?

She nodded and picked up the phone, her superior walking away, and held the receiver to her ear.

“Hello?” she said.

“Alma? It’s Ben, Ben Fuller. Jane and Gary’s wedding, remember?”

Alma smiled; ah yes, now she understood. Her American friend Gary had invited her to his wedding, and at the reception she’d met an FBI agent named Ben Fuller. They’d started chatting about their jobs and exchanged numbers as possible work contacts in the future. In fact, Agent Fuller had called her about two years ago, asking her to look into someone for him since he was no longer allowed to at the FBI.

She wondered if he hadn’t opened with that intentionally.

“Yes, I remember,” she said, wincing at her accented English. “It’s nice to hear from you, Ben. Why are you calling?”

“You remember that thing I called you about two years ago?”

Alma nodded before remembering she was on the phone and someone across the Atlantic couldn’t see her nod. “Yes,” she replied. “I do. Is that why my superior told me the FBI wants me to come to America for an investigation?”

“Probably,” Fuller said. “Sorry, I know your Interpol work is important, but this–”

“Trust me, Agent Fuller, I’d much rather spend time investigating than sitting behind a desk,” Alma said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Great, thanks.”

Alma moved to hang up the phone, but paused before she did so. “Agent Fuller?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Why now? What happened?”

He was silent for a moment, and Alma realized their call probably wasn’t safe. _Of course it’s not, you idiot,_ she thought, _he didn’t even say Tressler’s name_. _Fine field agent you’ll make, no doubt._

 “I’ll tell you when you get here,” he said, pulling Alma back from her thoughts. “Some friends and I will meet you at the airport. Pack light, have a nice flight.”

Alma heard a click and the sound of a receiver, and put the phone back on its hook. Her mind felt like it was buzzing.

 _Arthur Tressler_ , she thought. _About damn time_.

When Agent Fuller had called her about Tressler, Alma hadn’t really known what to expect. Obviously, Fuller asking her to investigate privately meant neither the FBI nor Interpol was safe, so she investigated discreetly, learning how to maneuver unseen through online databases and hardcopy archives. Tressler, as it turned out, was your average billionaire scumbag – British-born, internationally known, and made his money through illegal dealings of drugs, bonds, and weapons. But what Alma found most interesting about him was his connection to her lifelong passion of the Eye.

Tressler, it turned out, had been robbed of millions of dollars by the Eye’s magicians many years ago, only a short time after his first weapons dealing. According to her research, this had instilled a feeling of intense vengeance in Tressler, and he’d spent the last thirty or so years both building his empire and kidnapping children with talents for magic. He’d made it his life’s goal to ruin the Eye for what it’d done to him, taking away any promising initiates and turning them into his own personal army of security officers or magician sleeper agents. Many of the kidnapped children were set free and never testified against Tressler, but the Eye never approached those kids – at least not that Alma knew. The organization would be stupid to anyway. They knew Tressler’s goals. Those kids, with Tressler’s backing and training, could easily take the organization down from the inside.

Alma shuddered at the thought. The Eye had been a focus of awe and fascination for her since she’d first heard of them as a child, listening to stories about Ancient Egypt in primary school. Alma had always wanted to be a magician, but she didn’t have the patience to learn any decent card tricks, so she decided studying them would be just as fine. The thought of someone trying to take down the Eye, a group known for its… well, illegal Robin Hood maneuvers – that wasn’t something Alma liked. 

It had surprised her when Tressler turned out to be connected with the Eye, but like most other things in her life, she just decided to let fate take its course. _Everything happens for a reason_ , Alma’s mother would say. _Coincidence often leads to much stronger bonds than you would imagine._

Alma Dray sighed and pushed away from her desk, letting the wheeled chair roll back and hit the wall behind her before standing up. Then she grabbed a few things and pulled out the tome about the Eye, stuffing it all in her bag; she’d probably need it where she was going.

As she walked upstairs to the upper offices, Alma waved at her superior and gave him a nod, telling him she’d accepted the FBI’s request. He told her to pack quickly and get the tickets at the airport – her flight left in a few hours.

She waved goodbye and burst out the doors, digging in her pockets for her car keys. There was no time to waste now; she had a plane to catch.


	9. Henderson, North Carolina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, i'm going to write a short chapter about the horsemen meeting the fbi squad  
> *thirteen pages later* fUCK
> 
> alright so i'm fairly sure there's like then thousand illegal things going on in this chapter that the fbi would never be down with doing, but you know what? fuck it. i'm a fan fiction writer, I AM THE LAW

The next afternoon, Dylan stopped the van just outside Henderson, North Carolina for a hygiene break – meaning everyone was going to go and shower and change in the nearby fitness center before heading back on the road. He also told them to meet back in the diner parking lot in three hours and not to buy anything.

“Can we actually eat at the diner?” Henley asked, digging through her bag for her toiletries. Dylan shook his head.

“We were only paid half the agreed amount before the Oglethorpe show,” Dylan said, “and I highly doubt they’re going to pay us the other half after that stunt with the gunmen. We need to conserve money for gas.”

“Where are we going?” Merritt asked.

“Don’t really know that either.”

“Hey, guys?” Danny said suddenly. “I uh, I ran out of soap. Like all my soap. Does anyone have extra?”

“We do!” Lula said, grinning at Jack. The two of them pulled a pair of bulging Walmart bags out from under Jack’s couch and opened them up for everyone to see – inside were tons of tiny toiletry bottles from the hotel in Atlanta. Soap bars, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, everything. There were even mouthwash bottles and vanity kits.

Dylan stared. “Uh,” he began, “where’d you get all these toiletries?”

Lula’s grin dropped, and Dylan’s stomach with it. _Oh dear god_ , he thought, _please tell me they didn’t steal these from people’s rooms._

“Well uh,” Lula stuttered, “Uh. Jack, you explain!”

“What?!” he said. “It was your idea!”

“Yeah, but it was your lock picking skills!”

“That doesn’t mean–”

“Excuse me, lock picking skills?” Dylan interrupted, giving them a look. They both gave him sheepish grins; guilty as charged. “Please don’t tell me you broke into other people’s rooms and stole their toiletries.”

Jack coughed. “Well…”

Henley and Danny burst out laughing, and Merritt high-fived Lula with a huge grin on his face. Dylan covered his face with one hand and wondered what he’d done in life to deserve this.

“This isn’t funny, guys!” he said to Henley and Danny, but they kept laughing. Twerps. He turned to the younger rascals instead. “Seriously! I told you no stealing!”

“No, you told us no _pickpocketing_ ,” Lula reminded him, “there’s a difference.”

“Besides,” Jack reasoned, “all the toiletries in hotels are complimentary. We didn’t _steal_ anything. Plus, if we’re running low on cash, all this stuff means we don’t have to waste money on soap and things! So really, we did everyone a favor.”

Dylan couldn’t exactly argue with that, but he was still pretty miffed. “Alright, fine,” he said. “Get out. Go shower.”

Lula and Jack cackled and high-fived, grabbing some soap from the bags and stuffing it into their pockets. Danny did the same and hopped out behind them with Henley while Merritt stayed in his beach chair.

“Uh, Merritt?” Dylan asked. “You want to go shower sometime today?”

“I’ll watch the car first. I need my beauty sleep.”

Merritt winked at Dylan and settled into his chair, pulling out a book to read. That was his way of telling Dylan to go on ahead – the car would be fine. Dylan caved in with a sigh and grabbed some things before jumping out of the van.

“Don’t break anything,” he said.

“Mhmm.”

The kids were already a little ways ahead, but Dylan easily caught up with his long legs. Jack saw him approach and gave him an evil little grin.

“Hey Dylan,” he said, “need any soap?”

Dylan glared at him as Lula and Henley started cackling and ran ahead towards the fitness center. He reminded them that he was the one paying for their showers, but they just kept running ahead, Jack and Danny close behind.

Really, what had Dylan done to deserve this?

* * *

He was feeling better after a shower and a new change of clothes, but there were still a few things Dylan had to do before they left. He’d already gotten gas and tried to clean up the van a little. Now he just had to place a call.

An important call.

“Hello?” he said into his phone, the dial tone cutting off. “It’s Dylan.”

“I see your show last night didn’t go as planned,” the old lady replied in Mandarin.

Dylan smiled – always nice to hear a familiar voice.

“Bu Bu,” he said, continuing the conversation in her tongue, “the kids and I are a little concerned. If that was Tressler, we need to know if things are still safe for us here. Do you have any idea how something like this could’ve slipped through your surveillance?”

“I have no idea, Dylan, but if there was a leak, it was on your end.” Bu Bu sighed, the sound heavy in his ears. “I doubt it was intentional, but tell the children to be careful. Tressler is a dangerous man, and if they were to fall into his grasp…”

“I know, Bu Bu, I know. I understand.” It was Dylan’s turn to sigh now. “It’s just… it’s getting harder, you know. They’re still kids. Sometimes I don’t have enough to feed both them and me, sometimes they just run off for hours and don’t come back and, I’m worried–”

“Dylan.” She spoke the word with a calm sort of certainty, and that alone somehow calmed him down enough to listen. “Taking care of children is never an easy task. That is why I asked you to do it.”

“Bu Bu, I still don’t think–”

“That you were the right choice for this mission? Hmm.” Dylan could practically hear the wise little smile coming off her face. “It seems a year was not enough to convince you. Don’t worry, Dylan, you’ll see soon enough.”

He wondered what that meant.

“What do I do in the meantime?” he asked.

“Try to stay under the radar and keep everyone fed. We’ll handle anything else.” A pause. “Good luck, Dylan.”

The phone connection cut off before he could say goodbye, and Dylan was alone again.

* * *

“I told Henley already, no diner,” Dylan reminded Lula, leaning against the van. He’d gotten out to stretch his legs, hoping he could go wander in some stores and talk to people above the age of twenty-five for once, but one person had to stay with the van at all times to make sure it wasn’t stolen – that was the rule. Usually, that person was Dylan. Today was no exception.

“Aw, come on!” Lula whined, trying to beg him with her big puppy eyes. Those didn’t work on Dylan. Usually. “After what we just went through? We deserve a hot meal.”

“Yes, you do, but we don’t have enough money to _afford_ a hot meal,” Dylan said. “End of story, case closed. If you want to stick around and put on a show to grab money, be my guest, but we’re leaving in half an hour. Got it?”

Lula pouted, crossing her arms. “You are absolutely no fun whatsoever,” she said.

“I’m not supposed to be fun, I’m the driver.”

“Hey, Dylan?” Danny asked, hopping out of the van. “Where is everyone anyway? We’re leaving soon, right?”

“I don’t exactly have an Annoying Magician Kid tracking device, Atlas,” Dylan said. “They’ll be here on time, don’t worry.”

“We’re not annoying,” Lula chimed in, “we’re adorable.”

“I never said you couldn’t be both, now could I?”

Dylan gave Lula a grin, and she just giggled and ran around the other side of the van, probably to try and climb on the roof without Dylan seeing. He rolled his eyes – if she fell off and broke something, that was her fault. He’d told her a thousand times not to do it.

“Seriously, Dylan,” Danny said, walking over to him, “I’m kinda worried.”

“Atlas, you’re always worried.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe, but this time I actually have a reason to be. What if Tressler is still tracking us? We barely got out of Atlanta without being seen, and we aren’t exactly traveling in something inconspicuous. He could easily have popped up and grabbed everyone while we were waiting here!”

“Atlas, calm down.” Dylan put both hands on his shoulders and stared at him. “It’s going to be fine. I called our friends, they’re taking care of it.”

“Like they took care of it at Oglethorpe?”

Dylan saw something in Danny’s eyes change, something he didn’t like, but he didn’t get to say anything before Lula ran around the other side of the van looking panicked.

“Dylan!” she hissed. “There’s someone walking towards the van!”

“What?” He let go of Danny’s shoulders and glanced around. “Who?”

“Me.”

Dylan whipped around, his entire body taut as a wire, expecting to see Thaddeus Bradley or one of Tressler’s goons and fully prepared to take whoever it was to the ground. Instead, he saw something worse.

“ _Cowan?_ ” he asked.

FBI Agent Matthew Cowan, the single most obnoxious person Dylan Shrike had ever met, was standing two feet away next to the driver’s side of the van. Smirking. He was also holding a gun to Dylan’s chest, which really didn’t help matters much at all. Dylan held his left arm out slightly, hoping Danny would get the message and move behind him, while Lula peeked out from under his other arm, gripping his shirt tight.

 “Hello Rhodes,” Cowan said, still grinning. God, he forgot how annoying his voice could be. “You look like shit.”

“Hello Cowan,” Dylan replied with a glare. “I see you’re still an asshole.” The gun was still pointed at him; what the hell did Cowan have a gun trained on him for? Why was he even here?

“Better watch out, Rhodes,” Cowan said, tilting his gun a little. “You’re not an agent anymore. You can’t talk like that to me.”

“No, but I can.” Everyone turned to see Deputy Director Natalie Austin, looking incredibly pissed, walk up to them through the parking lot. _Boss?_ What the hell was going on?

“Cowan, put the gun down,” she ordered, completely ignoring him to look at Dylan.

“What? I just wanted to see what he’d do.”

“Put it away, or I’ll make you put it away. Understand?”

Cowan huffed and did as he was told, but Dylan was still reeling a little. What the hell was going on?

“Uh, boss?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded, giving him a faint smile. “Nice to see you, Rhodes.”

“Yeah, uh, nice to see you too. You mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?”

Natalie Austin just smiled and shook her head, almost laughing. “Still the same,” she said. “Actually, it has something to do with you.”

“Me? What–” Dylan stopped and realized what must’ve brought them here. “Oglethorpe. You heard about Oglethorpe.”

The boss nodded, and Dylan stared at her, still trying to process this. Oglethorpe. The FBI knew about Oglethorpe. Which meant the FBI knew about the Horsemen, the Horsemen and him and probably Tressler and if his suspicions about the Director were true then–

“It’s just us, Dylan,” the boss said, like she could read his mind. “Cowan, Fuller, and I are the only people in the FBI who know about this. I’m guessing we were right in assuming this had something to do with Tressler?”

Dylan felt Danny and Lula tense behind him, and he swallowed. He really should’ve shared more of his FBI glory-day stories with them in the van.

“They know about Tressler?” Danny hissed, staring at him in shock. “How–”

“I’ll explain later,” Dylan replied, focusing back on the boss. He owed the kids an explanation, but he’d rather give one when everyone was present. There were more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.

“Just you three?” Dylan asked. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“You couldn’t just keep Cowan in the dark about this one?”

Cowan scowled and crossed his arms, giving Dylan a glare. “Keep talking shit Rhodes, I dare you,” he threatened. “You won’t even make it to the hospital.”

“Cowan, stop.” Austin heaved an exasperated sigh rubbed her temples. “Could you go get Fuller, please?”

Cowan opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and turned around to do as he was told. He gave Dylan one more squinty-eyed glare before he left, and Dylan returned it with a glare of his own.

Dick.

“Well, he seemed like a jackass,” Lula said, watching Cowan round the corner next to the Laundromat. Dylan groaned.

“Lula,” he said, “could you please try not to curse in front of my former FBI superior? It makes me look bad.”

Lula shrugged and looked up at Natalie Austin, who was staring down at her in surprise. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Lula.”

“Hi.” Austin raised an eyebrow at Dylan, and he just shook his head.

“Speaking of which…” Austin glanced around. “Where’s the rest of your little troupe, Dylan? Out enjoying the town?”

“Probably,” he said. “I doubt they’ll come near us without my say so, though.”

“They always that paranoid?”

“They should be, I taught them to be.”

Austin gave him another look, one that told him he probably should’ve started with something else. “Rhodes,” she said, “what the hell are you doing?”

“It’s uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck – how was he supposed to explain this without involving the Eye? “It’s a long story. I–”

“He’s keeping us safe from Tressler.”

Dylan turned, surprised to see Danny watching the FBI boss with a serious expression. He had his hands jammed in his pockets, probably to hide their nervous twitching, but Dylan only knew that because he’d lived with the kid for a year – his face, his posture, everything about him seemed calm. Natalie’s gaze snapped over to him.

“He is?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Lula said, jumping into the conversation too. “He found us all a year ago and helped us out. Tressler’s been after all of us for a while.”

Austin looked back at Dylan. “How’d you find out they were targets?” she asked.

“Anonymous tip,” he answered. Lying was easy now – he knew what to do. “I got it a year after the case was shut down. Didn’t want to involve you guys, so I checked it out on my own. When I found out it was real, well… I mean I couldn’t exactly keep a bunch of kids in my apartment, could I? And I knew the FBI couldn’t be trusted, so–”

“So you bought a van, painted your name on it, and drove around the country with five other kids stuffed in it?”

Austin sure had a way of boiling stuff down to its bare bones, didn’t she? “Well, when you put it like that–”

“It was a stupid idea, Rhodes.”

Dylan heard Lula giggle next to him. “I like her,” she said.

 _You little traitor_ , he thought. “Lula–”

“Dylan!”

He looked up at the sounds of his name and saw Fuller heading his way, smiling like an idiot. Cowan was close behind, with a blonde pony-tailed woman he’d never seen before on his heels, but Dylan’s focus was on his friend. A friend he hadn’t seen in a whole year.

“Ben, hey!” he said, feeling himself grin despite everything. “It’s good to see you, man!”

“Good to see you too.” Fuller came up and clapped a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, grinning broadly. “How’ve you been? You’re looking pretty shabby.”

“Gee, thanks. That happens when you live in a van for a year. You?”

“Oh I’m fine. Business as usual. Have to remind myself not to kill Cowan every few hours, but other than that it’s pretty great.”

“I’m right here, asshole,” Cowan growled, glaring daggers at Fuller. Dylan just chuckled – this was what old times felt like.

Austin sighed, still exasperated, and Fuller and Rhodes shut themselves up and turned towards her. Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan tried to get a good look at the new woman, the one with the blonde ponytail. She was still hanging a little outside the group, hands in the pockets of her coat and collar turned up against the wind, but she surveyed everything with a curious eye and a not-so-hardened expression. Early thirties, light blue eyes, pale skin. A bulging messenger bag was thrown over her shoulder like a duffle, a few papers and the sleeve of a shirt sticking out the back.

He could see a badge and gun on her belt, almost hidden by the tan overcoat, but she obviously wasn’t FBI – Austin said only the three of them knew. So who the hell was she?

She glanced towards him and Dylan realized he was staring; he quickly looked away and gave Austin a confused look, hoping she’d get the message.

“Oh.” The boss gave him a little nod and gestured towards the woman. “Dylan Rhodes, this is Interpol Agent Alma Dray. Fuller suggested we bring her.”

“Interpol?” he asked, a little surprised. Why were they dragging Interpol into all this? If Fuller trusted her, then Dylan figured she must be alright, but situation still felt kind of weird.

Natalie Austin nodded and continued: “She kept up our investigation into Tressler after the case was shut down. Fuller asked her to in private, and she’s been doing so under the radar for the past year. He suggested we include her in this too, since she knows more about the situation and could be helpful.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dylan Rhodes,” the woman – Dray, Alma Dray – said, holding out her hand. Dylan took it and shook; her hand was slender and dry, and she had a slight French accent. “Your friend Agent Fuller has told me a lot about you.”

“Oh he has, has he?” Dylan dropped his hand and glanced towards his friend. “Somehow, that doesn’t comfort me.”

Fuller just smirked and rolled his eyes. “Five star review, Dylan,” he told him, “nothing but the good stuff.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, reign it in,” Austin said, pulling the conversation back. “Now that we’ve all been introduced, there are a few things we need to talk about. Namely, Tressler.”

“What about Tressler?” Lula asked. Dylan almost jumped – he’d nearly forgotten she and Danny were still behind him. And from the looks on everyone’s faces, he wasn’t he only one.

“What?” Lula asked, glaring up at the adults. “Danny and I are right here. Just because we’re kids doesn’t mean we can’t participate in the conversation.”

Everyone stared at Dylan, like he was the authority on this sort of thing, and he shrugged. “I mean, she has a point,” he said.

Natalie sighed. “Okay,” she said, obviously annoyed with all the interruptions. “Fine. Dylan, what exactly was your endgame for this whole mess?”

He coughed, realizing how stupid his response would sound but not exactly having a better one. “I uh, I don’t have one.”

Cowan snorted. “Sounds like you.”

“Cowan, shut it,” Austin snapped before turning back to Dylan. “Well Rhodes, I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that _we_ have one. If Tressler’s after these kids, and we know that for a fact, then we can use that against him and finally get the bastard once and for all. It’s just us, but we have enough surveillance tech to pull something off. Something big. If we can catch him in the act of kidnapping minors–”

“Wait, I’m sorry what?” Dylan interrupted, anger starting to rise. “You want to use my kids as bait?”

“They’re not your kids, Dylan,” Austin reminded him, giving him a look. He tried to say something, but the words got caught in his throat before he even knew what they were; the boss took his silence as permission to move on. “Besides, that’s sort of what we thought _you_ were doing.”

He stopped and stared. “You thought I was using these kids to draw out Tressler?” he asked.

“Well, no, we didn’t really believe it,” Austin said, “but it was the only suggestion that made sense at the time. Why else would one of our best agents quit and reappear a year later, hauling six runaway magicians across the country? We didn’t know _what_ to think, Rhodes.”

He didn’t really have a response to that.

“Look,” she continued, “whatever your plan was before this, it’s obviously not going to work for much longer. Tressler is closing in, and you can’t stay ahead of him forever, not even with our help. Which, if the rest of the FBI finds out you’re carrying runaway kids in that van of yours, will probably turn into you becoming a fugitive anyway. If you really want to help, you need to focus on Tressler.”

Dylan knew she had a point, but something was still making his stomach twist, something he didn’t like about this plan. “I still don’t want you using these kids as bait,” he said. “We’re not putting them in danger just to catch one scumbag.”

“Dylan?” It was Danny again, staring at him so intently Dylan wondered if this was the same nervous kid he’d been talking to before Cowan showed up. “I think we’d rather make that decision for ourselves.”

He stopped, staring at Danny, and for the first time Dylan wondered why everything felt like it was spinning out of his control. A glance at Lula told the same story – this was their life and their choice. If they wanted to be used as bait for a criminal billionaire, then they could be. And they wanted to be.

Dylan didn’t want them to be, but like the boss said – they weren’t his kids. He couldn’t decide for them.

For some reason, that thought kind of hurt.

He sighed and turned towards the Laundromat on the corner, letting out a shrill whistle between his teeth. Three recognizable heads peeked out from around the corner.

“It’s alright, kids!” he yelled, and the other adults turned to see them hiding around the corner. “You can come out.”

They looked at each other – Henley, Jack, and Merritt – before doing as Dylan said and walking towards the van. They stayed close together and skirted around the adults, bodies tense and eyes wary. At least they were here.

“FBI?” Merritt asked. He’d probably deduced that the second he laid eyes on them, but it didn’t hurt to confirm it. Dylan nodded. “Old friends?”

“Mostly,” he replied. “They uh… they have a proposition to make.”

Dylan explained everything: the FBI, Tressler, how he and his colleagues had been investigating him for years until Tressler’s friends in the FBI shut the case down. He skipped ahead, letting them fill in the gaps with what they knew about the Eye and Dylan on their own, and told them about the FBI’s loosely constructed “plan.”

“You guys don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said immediately, hoping they didn’t feel pressured. The last thing he wanted to do was make them feel forced to put their lives in danger.

But everyone’s expressions were determined and set, and Dylan felt his heart sink.

“Oh trust me, I’m pretty sure we all want to,” Merritt said first, putting his hands on his hips. “I mean, playing bait so the FBI can finally scoop up the billionaire prick that’s been on our asses for the past few years? Dylan, come on. I finally get to do something useful with my life.”

“Hardee har har, Merritt,” Dylan said, unamused, but he had a point.

“Yeah, Dylan,” Henley said, giving him a smile. “I think we’re in. We finally get to get rid of him, right?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Jack piped up.

He glanced at Danny and Lula, but they’d already made their choice. He’d seen them decide the second Natalie had suggested it. But it didn’t make him feel any better.

“What exactly is the plan?” Dylan asked, turning back to the boss. “Do you even have one in mind?”

“Yes, we do,” she said. “They put on another show to draw Tressler out, and when he makes a move on them, we grab him.”

“He’ll be using the Consortium, you know that,” Dylan said.

“Maybe, but if the kids let themselves get captured and wear trackers, we can follow them to wherever Tressler is holding them. He’ll want to see them at some point. Once that happens, the FBI can move in, and we’ll have solid proof that’ll put him away for a good long while.”

“I’m liking this idea less and less, boss,” Dylan said, clenching his fists at the thought of Tressler getting his hands on the Horsemen. “We have no idea what he’ll want to do with them once he has them.”

“He isn’t going to kill us, Dylan,” Henley said.

“You don’t know that.”

“Rhodes, if you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it,” Austin said, “but this is the best one we could come up with. We’re risking a lot to come out here as it is. The more we know about the situation, the better a plan we’ll have. That’s the way it works, you know that.”

He did know that – Dylan knew that better than anybody. He’d spent his whole life making plans with split-second decisions and new information. Being a member of the Eye did that to you; being a member of the Eye in the FBI even more so. But this was different, more of a gamble. And it wasn’t just his life on the line anymore.

Dylan sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm down. “Fine,” he said, “fine. We’ll do it. Where are we putting this show on?”

“Los Angeles,” the boss said. Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan saw Henley tense up – her parents lived in Los Angeles. “Arthur Tressler has a residence there. Closer we are to his house, the more likely he’ll bring the kids there.”

“He’s not an idiot, boss.”

“No, but he’s overconfident. And he’s been after them for a long time, right? My guess is he’ll want to gloat in person as soon as he can.”

Dylan looked at the kids, all with firm determination still in their eyes. _Los Angeles_. That was all the way on the other side of the country. If nothing else, this would be one hell of a road trip.

“Alright, fine,” he said. “We’ll work out details on the way. Anything else?”

“Actually, yes.” Natalie Austin locked eyes with him, her face showing this next bit was non-negotiable. “One of us is coming with you.”

He stared at her.

“What?” he asked, the kids behind him sharing looks. “Why?”

“I’m not letting you travel across the country with five kids–”

“Legally, I’m an adult,” Merritt interrupted. “Just thought I should mention that.”

“With five kids,” Austin continued, glaring pointedly at Merritt, “and a maniac after you with no backup. You might be former FBI, Rhodes, but you’re just one man. You need help.”

“We can take care of ourselves, you know,” Jack said, obviously a little miffed.

“I’m sure you can, but it’s still happening,” she replied.

“Boss, seriously? I don’t need a babysitter,” Dylan said, his anger rising again. “If you’re worried about us running, that’s not going to happen–”

“My decision’s final, Rhodes,” she said, staring at him. “You’re taking someone with you. Otherwise, I can call social services and we can do this without you. Understood?”

Dylan felt his blood freeze, and the kids around him obviously felt the same way. Jack even inched a little closer, knowing full well what it meant for him especially. Social services meant separation. It meant going back home and leaving the van for good. It meant all of them going back to homes and places that didn’t want them, and Dylan likely going to prison and never seeing any of them again.

That was a dirty card for Austin to play, and she knew it. But she also knew saying it would show Dylan how serious this decision was. She wasn’t letting him go alone.

And here he was, thinking he had a choice.

“Fine,” he said, gritting his teeth. “We’ll take someone. Please tell me it isn’t Cowan.”

That seemed to amuse the boss enough to chuckle. “Of course it’s not Cowan, I’m not an idiot, Rhodes,” she said. “But he and the rest of us need to get back to the FBI HQ before our little leave starts looking suspicious.”

“FBI HQ? Then who–” The realization hit a second later, and Dylan looked over at Alma Dray, who gave him a tiny smile and wave.

Oh.

Oh great.

“Well, it looks like your deductive reasoning skills are still up to par,” Austin said. Dylan could practically hear the grin in her voice, but he was still staring at Interpol Agent Alma Dray, wondering how the hell he was supposed to deal with this, with _her_. “Alma Dray will be accompanying you on your trip to L.A. Is everyone okay with this?”

Dylan didn’t respond, still watching Alma, who was watching him back with just as much intensity. She had a small grin and a look in her eyes that told him she could very much take care of herself and all six other people in the van, and Dylan wasn’t going to stop her no matter what he did. Which was irritating. He was a grown man, he didn’t need a goddamn babysitter. And the van wasn’t just a car – it was their home. Letting someone they barely knew into their home, just because he had to… Dylan wasn’t exactly down with this.

But Natalie hadn’t given him much of a choice.

“Yeah, I’m okay with it,” Merritt said suddenly, surprising Dylan out of his trance. Four other heads bobbed along with his, all the kids agreeing to take in Alma.

“Yeah, it’s cool.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s a good idea.”

“I like her.”

That just left Dylan, and now everyone’s eyes were on him, waiting to hear what he’d say. He glanced at the kids – if they were fine with bringing her along, then sure, he could get behind it. Fine. If anything went wrong, it wasn’t technically his fault anyway.

Besides. The more he watched Alma, the more he realized she was hiding something, something she hadn’t even told the FBI. He doubted it was something as dangerous as her working for Tressler (unlikely anyway), but either way, Dylan wanted to know what it was. Mysteries were puzzles to him; he didn’t like leaving puzzles unsolved.

Only one way to solve this one.

“Well, if everyone else is jumping at the bit, I guess I can get on board.” Dylan held out his hand again, not for an introduction, but an agreement. Alma stepped forward and grasped his hand, the firm shake telling him everything he needed to know.

“Alma Dray,” he said, “welcome to the Horsemen.”

When she smiled, Dylan figured he might’ve made the right choice after all.


	10. Agent Dray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did this instead of my summer reading. i've lost control of my life. enjoy.
> 
> (they'll bicker more once they get to know each other)

Once the other FBI agents left to catch their plane back to D.C., Alma and Dylan were left alone. Well, mostly – the Horsemen kids were still around, but they were mostly distractedly running about or waiting in the van for him to start driving.

But Dylan didn’t look quite ready to start driving. He was still studying her.

Granted, Alma was still studying him back, but they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since the agents left, and the silence was getting a bit awkward. Ben Fuller had shown her pictures of Rhodes back when he was in the FBI, just in case they had to go looking for him, and she could see he’d changed a lot in the past year. He was thinner and leaner, his hair a little long and unkempt and heavy bags under his eyes. _Disheveled_ and _exhausted_ were the first two words that came to mind. Rhodes had his hands in his jacket pockets, leaning his back against the side of the van, watching her with dark eyes that seemed to know a lot more than they were letting on.

“So,” Rhodes said, finally breaking the silence. “Interpol, huh? Where are you from, Agent Dray?”

“France,” she replied, “and Alma is fine. Formalities don’t seem very appropriate when I’ll be riding with you all in a van for the next week or so.”

“Ha, yeah.” He pushed himself off the side of the van and rubbed the back of his neck – a nervous gesture, probably. “You can call me Dylan, by the way. All the kids do.”

“Yes, I heard,” Alma said, smiling. Dylan seemed to brighten when he mentioned the Horsemen. She’d seen how protective of them he was when the Deputy Director suggested her plan, and how well they all worked and thought together. Like a team.

Alma felt a bit like an intruder because of that, but she figured she shouldn’t mention that just yet.

“Um…” Dylan stuffed his hand back in his pocket and glanced around, like he was trying to think of something to say. “Well, first thing you need to know about the van is that it’s a mess.”

“It only has four seats,” one of the kids – Jack, that was his name – added, obviously listening in. He had one hand on the driver’s seat door handle and was hanging off of it like a monkey, watching them with a mischievous grin.

“Four seats?” Alma gave Dylan a look. “I’m fairly sure that’s illegal, Dylan.”

He laughed nervously. “Uh yeah, well…”

“Dylan can we go now?” the younger girl – Lula? – asked, tugging on Dylan’s sleeve. “Please?”

“Hang on a second, I’m trying to be a generous host here,” he said, gesturing towards Alma.

“Host?” The redheaded girl (was her name Halley? No, Henley. Right) stuck her head out from behind the van’s open back doors and raised an eyebrow. “Dylan, we live in a van.”

“Just because we live in a van doesn’t mean we can’t be generous hosts.”

“Mhmm.”

“Speaking of which – Henley, would you mind letting Alma sit shotgun for the first day? Just to let her get adjusted.”

Henley stared at Dylan in mock betrayal, placing her hand over her heart. “Why, Dylan,” she said dramatically, “how dare you. Pushing me back with all the riff raff? I’m insulted.”

“As part of the ‘riff raff,’” the oldest Horsemen, Merritt, said from inside the van, “ _I’m_ insulted by this stuffy princess having to come sit with _us_.”

Henley rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Merritt before turning back to the pair of them.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she said, shrugging. “Probably better like that anyway. The back is a rat’s nest.”

“Oh, so now we’re rats.”

“Shut up, Merritt!”

Alma laughed as Henley went back inside the van, Dylan laughing with her, and then she stopped. “Um,” she said, “what’s… ‘shotgun?’”

“Oh.” Dylan grinned. “Sorry. Passenger side seat.”

“It’s called _la place du mort_ in French, Dylan,” Henley shouted from inside the van.

Alma blinked in surprise. “ _Tu parle français?_ ” she called.

“ _Oui m’dame!_ ”

Alma felt herself smile again – this little family was just full of surprises, wasn’t it?

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” the last kid, Daniel, said from inside the van as well, “but that sounds an awful lot like French for ‘the place of death.’”

“That’s because it is,” Henley replied. “They used to call it that because it was the most dangerous place to ride on a horse-drawn carriage.”

“Guys,” Dylan said, glancing at Alma sheepishly, “I really don’t think this is helping her feel welcome and comfortable.”

“What? That’s not our job. You’re the host, Dylan.”

Dylan just rolled his eyes, Alma laughing again, when his hand suddenly flashed down and grabbed Jack by the wrist. Jack’s hand was halfway out of Dylan’s pocket, wrapped around his keys.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dylan asked, still smiling. Jack grinned back, mirroring the mischievous look on Dylan’s face, and slipped the keys back in his pocket.

“Nothin’,” he said.

“Really? You can’t even drive.”

“I’m a fast learner.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “You realize you’re standing in front of a cop, right?”

Jack laughed and turned to Alma, Dylan releasing his wrist. “She’s not a cop, she’s Interpol,” he replied with a grin. “That’s what you said.”

“Interpol is a European law enforcement agency,” Alma informed him.

His grin dropped a little. “Oh. Well uh…”

“Lula, what are you doing?” Dylan said suddenly.

Alma heard a squeak next to her and looked down, catching sight of Lula giggling and holding something to her chest. Was that… her wallet? How hadn’t she felt her slip it out? The girl was only twelve!

“Nothing!” she said immediately, promptly opening Alma’s wallet. “Your driver’s license is weird,” she informed her.

“That’s because it’s French.” Even though the girl had just picked her pocket, Alma couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

“And you have a picture in here.”

“Those are my parents.”

Lula opened her mouth to say something else, but Dylan snatched the wallet out of her hand and closed it. “Lula,” he said, “stealing from people is rude.”

“I was gonna give it _back!_ ” she said. “I like her! Plus there’s just Euros on there.”

Alma chuckled and shook her head, Dylan holding out the wallet for her. She took it and put it back in her pocket, offering a smile in thanks.

“Both of you little thieves, in the van, now,” Dylan said, pointing to the end of the vehicle. “We’re leaving.”

All five of the Horsemen cheered, and Dylan gave her another one of his sheepish grins, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, we’re a little hectic around here,” he said. “You’ll get used to it eventually.”

As Dylan walked towards the driver side door, Alma had a feeling she already had.

* * *

It took Dylan a minute to realize he was actually feeling self-conscious about the van. It’s not like he usually cared what people thought about their living conditions or anything, it was just that, well… the van was a mess. An honest to god mess that he and five other kids lived and slept in. He should’ve at least gotten an RV or something. A camper. But no, he’d chosen a van, and now Alma Dray’s first impression of him would be a total slob that couldn’t actually take care of anything.

He’d glanced in the back while starting the van up, and it was like seeing everything in a new light. Mismatched rugs and mats were strewn about the floor, covering up the metal bottom, and various boxes and piles of junk were scattered about on top. The tiny circular table behind Dylan’s right elbow was littered with sticky notes, playing cards, pen doodles, and carvings of names and symbols from that one time Jack got ahold of a pocketknife. The bunks the girls slept in were small and squashed, the “couches” underneath them little more than couch cushions duct taped to the floor so they could fit underneath the bunks. And Merritt slept in a goddamn beach chair with a comforter thrown over it. It wasn’t exactly a picture perfect American pie household.

But Alma twisted in her chair, glanced around the van, and smiled. “I like it,” she said.

“You don’t have to lie just to make me feel better, you know,” Dylan grumbled, turning the key in the ignition. The van spluttered to life, and Henley plopped herself down in the seat behind the Alma while the other four found seats on the couches. Time to start driving.

“I wasn’t lying,” Alma said, giving him a smile. He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow, and couldn’t see any trace of a lie. Huh. Alright. He shrugged and turned out to the road, steering the van out of the parking lot.

“Alright, fine,” he said, keeping an eye on the kids with his rearview mirror. “You weren’t lying. Not sure why you’d like our mobile pigsty, but sure. Thanks.”

“Dylan, how dare you?” That was Henley again, being overdramatic. “I _live_ here!”

“We all live here, Henley,” Danny deadpanned from his couch in the back.

Henely stared at Dylan, obviously annoyed. “Why does he exist?” she asked.

“Henley, please be nice to Atlas.”

“ _But da-ad!_ ”

“If you aren’t going to help navigate, go bother Merritt and leave me alone.”

Henley sighed and leaned over the tiny table, her head barely sticking into the front seat area, and pulled out her phone. She tapped on the screen for a minute.

“Alright,” she said, probably looking at Google Maps. “You know how to get to I-85, right?”

“Yeah,” Dylan said.

“Okay. Go there and keep driving. It’ll merge with I-40 eventually, and then just stay on I-40 until we get to Los Angeles.” Henley flashed a smile. “Now can I bother Danny?”

“Yeah, in the back where you can’t bother me.”

“What?” Danny yelled in betrayal. Henley just cackled and got out of her chair, maneuvering towards the back to do god knows what. It wouldn’t be quiet, but at least Dylan would be a few feet away.

He and Alma, anyway. Dylan had a doubt she’d be able to put up with them for two days, much less a week, but if she was stuck with them for that long, he didn’t want to make the experience a grueling one. Besides, at least Dylan had another adult to talk to – Merritt, despite all his complaining (probably even because of it), didn’t count as one.

“So, you like the van,” Dylan said, watching the road. The highway was starting to fill with cars as the time neared five o’ clock, and Dylan doubted they were going to get very far for their first day. Not with all the incoming traffic. They’d still be stuck in the van for a while though, so he might as well try to have a conversation.

“You’re surprised?” Alma said, smiling.

“Well, yeah. I mean it’s a mess for even me, and I’ve been living in this thing for a year.”

“My parents and I shared an apartment with my mother’s family in Paris until I was twenty. Small flat, big family. There was always a mess and it was always crowded.” She shrugged. “It’s how I liked it.”

“You liked it like that?” Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well… sort of.” She smiled and pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “More because my part of the bedroom was always neater than everyone else’s. It made me feel better about myself.”

Dylan laughed a little. “Yeah, I definitely get that,” he said. “That’s how I was in college. All my roommates were total slobs, so for once I was the neat one.”

“Oh, how far you’ve fallen.”

“Ha, ha.”

They were silent for a minute, listening to the kids chattering and playing cards in the back. Lula got carsick easily, so she usually sat by the window and listened to music, munching on snacks to keep the queasiness away. Jack was sitting next to her, practicing a card trick Dylan had shown him. Henley and Danny had roped Merritt into playing Go Fish, which Dylan knew from prior experience would just turn into a very loud cheating competition. No one seemed to be listening to them.

Alma was still silent, staring out the window at the scenery going past, and Dylan wondered what she was thinking about.

“Ever been to America?” he asked.

She nodded. “Once,” she said. “My family and I took a trip to New York City. It was a fun trip but… there’s a lot more to this country than just that city. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh, I do.” Dylan thought back to the first few months he’d spent with the kids in the van, driving around putting on small shows in even smaller towns. The views just driving on the highway were _amazing_ , especially for someone who’d spent most of their life living in cities and suburbs. And the kids’ reactions were the best part – the time they stopped in the middle of the night in the country to look at the sky, Jack swore he’d never seen this many stars before in his life.

When Dylan pulled himself out of the memory, he realized Alma had gone quiet again; she didn’t seem to be the talkative type, did she? Dylan had picked up on that when he first saw her. A listener, not a talker. An observer. A lot like Jack and Merritt. If Dylan wanted to know anything about her at all, he was going to have to ask.

“What was your family like?” Dylan spouted suddenly.

Alma gave him a confused look. “What?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I’m trying to think of stuff to talk about. Henley usually chatters all the time, the silence is a little weird.”

After a second, Alma smiled again – another thing he noticed about her, all the smiling. They were always these small, knowing smiles, like she’d just learned a person’s secrets after they’d spoken a single sentence. Unnerving, at least to Dylan, but at the same time he didn’t really mind. At least she wasn’t frowning.

Her smile reminded him of something else, but he couldn’t quite place it before Alma began talking.

“Well, my family was a mess,” she began, staring out the windshield. “With so many of us in one home, of course we were. There were me and my parents, and then my mom’s brother and sister and her wife, and my grandfather and my five cousins. I was an only child, _and_ I was the oldest, _and_ my mother was the oldest, so I was… kind of the favorite, I guess you’d say? That was interesting.”

“Sounds interesting,” Dylan commented, watching the highway slowly get more congested. “What were they like?”

“Loud,” Alma said with a laugh. “And busy, always very busy. I’d have to go babysit my cousins for hours at a time while my parents worked. They were in the… in English? Oh, Judicial Police. Similar to the FBI for France. And they wanted me to be in it as well.”

“What made you join Interpol?”

“It was more like they found me.” She shrugged. “I love to learn things, put things together like a puzzle. Or like a map. I could make sense of small details and data and turn it into a motive or a possible plan. Very helpful in solving cases. First I worked for the Judicial Police, and then Interpol approached me and offered me a job. I accepted.”

“Wow.” Dylan blinked. “Pretty impressive. So, you’re a researcher?”

She nodded. “This is… actually my first time in the field.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow and stared at her. “Wait, really? And they let you come here?”

“Well, the FBI called me specifically, so there wasn’t much they could do. I was also a field agent in the Judicial Police, and that carried over to Interpol, but… Well, they kept me on research for a long time. Me and all the other female agents.” She huffed. “I’m sure it’s the same over here with the FBI.”

“Yeah, it is,” Dylan replied, not exactly proud. That kind of stuff pissed him off a lot, but it didn’t surprise him. Sexism in law enforcement agencies was rampant to the point of obscene in America alone. Of course it’d be the same in France.

“How did _you_ join the FBI, Dylan?” Alma asked suddenly.

“Huh? Oh.” Dylan grinned. “Well, you know. Kind of a similar story. The FBI found me after I finished grad school and offered me a job. I guess they must’ve thought I’d be a good recruit. So I went to the Academy and passed and, well, the rest is history.”

Alma nodded, looking back out the window like she was filing the information away in her head. “What about your family?”

Dylan paused. “What about them?”

“Well, you asked about mine.” Alma shrugged, watching him curiously. “I just thought I should return the favor.”

“Oh. Well I mean…” He gripped the steering wheel and stared out the windshield, forcing a smile. “Not much to say, I guess. Just me and my parents. Honestly, my childhood was pretty tame compared to the kids back there.”

That was a pretty blatant lie, but he figured Alma Dray didn’t know him well enough to see through him. The subject change apparently helped; she glanced back towards the Horsemen, a concerned look in her eyes that Dylan hadn’t expected.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, watching him.

Dylan gave her a grim smile and looked out at the road. More cars, more congestion. “You’ll see eventually,” he told her. “There’s a reason they don’t want to go back, you know.”

Alma fell silent, eventually moving to stare out the window again, leaving Dylan to concentrate on getting the van through traffic as the kids yelled over a game of Go Fish behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to slow burn hell, folks. population me.
> 
> I'm dragging you down with me.


	11. Magicians and Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any of you remember that big book Alma had in the first movie with all those details about the Eye? because honestly, where did that thing even come from.

Dylan managed to get them to Newport, Tennessee before stopping in a parking lot to get some sleep, and the next morning they all did their usual routine of finding someplace to make themselves look presentable and get breakfast. Surprisingly, Alma caught on pretty quick. After everyone ate, Dylan caved and let the kids look around for an hour, but he made Jack and Lula stay with the van so _he_ could go stretch his legs for a change.

Neither of them was very happy, but Lula figured there were worse jobs. Besides, there was something she’d been wanting to do.

“Is everyone gone?” she asked Jack, looking up from the overcomplicated web of knots she was practicing with. Jack peeked out the back doors and nodded, giving her a weird look.

“What exactly are you planning on doing?” he asked, still standing by the doors. Lula tossed her tangled rope up onto her bunk and made her way up to the front passenger seat, climbing over the armrest to grab something on the ground. When she lifted it up, Jack stared.

“Alma’s bag?” he asked, staring at it. Lula nodded and brought it over to the biggest blank floor space she could find, kicking a few boxes and Merritt’s stupid beach chair over some to make room. Jack sat down next to her.

“This isn’t a very good idea,” he said, nervously drumming his fingers on his knee.

“Oh come on!” Lula said excitedly, grinning as she unfastened the top. “I just wanna take a look.”

“Isn’t she like, an international cop?”

“We’re not _stealing_ anything, Jack, just looking. I just want to know more about her!”

“You could do that by talking to her too, you know.”

“Since when are you the voice of reason here? I know you’re just as curious as I am.”

Jack huffed and watched her fold back the top of the bag, knowing she was right. He just got kind of jittery around cops and stuff. The first time Dylan had mentioned he’d been an FBI agent, Jack nearly fell out of the diner booth from shock.

“Alright, fine,” he said. He took a deep breath and blew it all out at once, letting himself grin at the idea of snooping around in someone’s bag. It _was_ pretty fun, just as long as no one found out. “So, what have we got?”

At first, they didn’t find anything interesting. Some old clothes, a hairbrush, a Ziploc bag for toiletries. But then Lula pulled out an old shirt and revealed something much more interesting.

“Is that a book?” Jack asked, staring at the spine. It looked leather bound and old, long and fairly thin compared to other old books he’d seen. There were sticky notes and colored post-its sticking out from the top.

Lula nodded, brimming with excitement. “It’s an _old, mysterious_ book,” she said, a hint of adventure in her voice, “sitting in the bag of a _mysterious_ Interpol agent.”

“She isn’t that mysterious, Lula.”

“I’m trying to make things dramatic, Jack! Help me pull it out.”

He just rolled his eyes and did as she asked, both of them laying the tome down on the floor in front of them. Lula shoved the other stuff aside and stared at the cover.

And froze.

“Uh…” Jack looked at her. “Is that what I think it is?”

 _If what you’re thinking of is the symbol of the Eye,_ Lula thought, _then yes_.

The two of them stared at the cover, too in shock to say much of anything. The cover was brown leather and stamped with a design, giving it ridges and bumps along the edges, and in the center was a perfect square with an Egyptian-looking Eye staring back out at them, inlaid in gold. It looked for all the world like the Eye of Horus, but the pupil, instead of being circular, was a hexagon.

“That’s the symbol of the Eye,” Lula whispered, a cold breeze from outside whipping into the van. She and Jack looked at each other.

“What the hell is this doing in her bag?” he asked.

She shrugged and brushed her finger along the post-its sticking out from the sides, brightly colored and probably put there by Alma.

“Let’s find out,” she said, picking a red one. She hooked her finger into the page and opened the book, half expecting it to shine bright, golden light as soon as she did.

Sadly, nothing happened. Whoever made this book had absolutely no taste for dramatics.

“At least it’s not written in code,” Jack muttered, staring at the pages. That’s what he’d been expecting, what with it a book being about the Eye and all. But no, it was written in English, with notes scribbled in the margins using different colored inks and handwriting. Alma’s notes were written on sticky notes and index cards stuck on pieces of text or between the pages; but if those were hers, then who the hell did the other notes belong to?

“It’s a book about the Eye, _written_ by the Eye!” Lula said, a grin spreading across her face. She was reading the printed text instead of the scribbled notes, apparently, so Jack followed suit and came to the same conclusion. “Jack, look! It talks about the initiation process!”

He did look; on the page, it described initiates for the Eye having to follow a series of orders with blind obedience in order to be accepted. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, remembering that was exactly what Dylan had told them at their first meeting.

_“Why don’t we have to do that?” Danny asked, crossing his arms suspiciously. “If the whole point of the Eye is having faith, doesn’t this kind of completely destroy that?”_

_“Yeah, it does, but exceptions have been made in the past,” Dylan said. “Special circumstances and everything. A man that’s been trying to tear the Eye up by its roots for years is chasing you guys, and most all of you aren’t even legal adults yet. Special circumstances kind of apply. Keeping you safe is more important than a pact designed by ancient magicians four thousand years ago.”_

Jack agreed, but it still felt kind of weird about it. He wished he could’ve been brought into the Eye like he was supposed to, following blind orders and doing magic to prove himself. But Tressler had taken that from him. He’d taken it from all of them.

“I bet Alma wrote these,” Lula said, jabbing at one of the post-it notes. “It kind of sounds like she thinks the Eye is pretty cool.”

“Wait, really?” he asked, reading one of the notes.

_A test of foi aveugle? No wonder no one knows about the Eye._ _Il fallait avoir une foi complète en eux avant même que vous saviez qu'ils vous acceptent!_ _Very smart, but very ~~dangereux~~ dangerous. So cool._

“A few of these notes look old,” Lula said. “And they sound like they were written by a kid.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jack said, reading a few more. “Damn, I wonder how long she’s had this?”

“I wonder _why_ she has it?” Lula shot back, raising an eyebrow. Jack shook his head – he had no idea. Was she part of the Eye? Was she secretly trying to _take down_ the Eye? Had she just happened across this one day and brought it along, by chance, to a van full of magicians who were all in the same secret society she’d read about since god knows when?

“This is really freaky,” he said.

“Yeah,” Lula agreed, thumbing the side of the book. What the hell had they stumbled into?

But Lula’s thoughts, like always, jumped to another topic, and Jack, figuring he could dwell on this later, decided to go with them.

“Who do you think wrote these?” Lula asked, pointing at the jottings in the margins. Jack shrugged, reading a few of the notes.

 _I can’t believe they made me jump off a roof_ , one person wrote in red pen.

 _They made me jump off a roof too,_ someone wrote underneath, with an arrow drawn to the comment above it. _For our finale._ _Maybe it’s their thing?_

Another person with blocky lettering had written under both: _definitely their thing._

Jack smiled. At least he hadn’t had to do _that_ to get initiated.

“Here, wait,” Lula said, reaching across and flipping over to the book’s first page. A smaller version of the Eye on the cover, still in gold, was stamped onto the title page, and underneath were names matching a few of the handwriting styles he’d seen in the margins. They seemed to be a list of everyone who’d had the book, like at the front of a textbook.

“Philippa Francis?” Lula read. “Joshua Hays? Who are these people?”

“I don’t know,” Jack answered. “Probably magicians who were in the Eye.”

“I’ve never heard of any of them,” Lula said, going down the list. It was only a few names long, with a few magicians giving stage names or adding little quirks to their name to stand out. “Wait, no, I’ve heard of him! Ramboni the Great. Igor thought he was the coolest thing to exist on Earth.”

Jack smirked. Igor was Lula’s old magician “teacher” at the circus, the one she’d run from to follow Dylan’s card. He pointed something out on the page and grinned.

“Ramboni’s real name was Bartholomew Diggle,” he said.

Lula snorted and continued scanning the list.

Jack followed her finger down to the bottom, where it stopped at the name written with the same blocky handwriting as the third comment on the other page. As soon as he read it, Jack froze.

“Lionel Shrike?” Lula said, staring at the page in shock. Jack nodded, and then another sound filtered into his mind – footsteps, headed towards the van. He tensed.

“Wait,” Lula said, “Isn’t that Dylan’s–”

Jack slapped a hand to Lula’s mouth and hissed for her to shut up. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered. Her eyes widened and he let her go, both of them stuffing the book and clothes back into Alma’s bag as fast as they could.

Lula had just enough time to shove the thing under Merritt’s comforter-covered beach chair and turn back to Jack, pretending to play cards, when J. Daniel Atlas came into view and glanced inside the van.

The two of them tried to ignore their hearts racing beyond all belief and looked up from their cards.

“What are you two doing?” he asked, crossing his arms. Jack looked down at his cards and back up, trying to think up an excuse.

“Playing poker,” he said. Danny gave him a suspicious look.

“Do you even know how to _play_ poker?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jack said indignantly – of course he knew how to play poker!

“No,” Lula grumbled. “Jack’s trying to teach me and he’s doing a horrible job. Also, don’t we need money or something? Like, for the betting part?”

“We can bet chocolate,” Jack shot back, heart still racing. _Thank god for Lula._ “What’s up, Danny? You need something?”

“The six of spades under the middle couch cushion. Don’t ask questions.”

They both gave him a weird look, but Jack reached under the couch and grabbed the card, slipping it out and throwing it to Danny. He gave a little mock salute and left.

“Don’t steal my candy to play poker!” he yelled.

Jack knew exactly what he was doing after he and Lula figured out this Eye book thing.

Lula sighed in relief and dumped her cards on the floor, Jack scooping them up to put back in his pocket as she stood and leaned out the door. After confirming Danny was headed back into town, she reached under Merritt’s stupid chair and pulled out Alma’s bag.

“Okay,” she said, holding it out in front of her like some kind of sacred object. “What do we do?”

Jack scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “Put it back and tell Dylan?”

“What? We can’t tell Dylan!” Lula stared at him like he’d suggested pushing the van off a cliff. “He’ll flip out! His dad wrote in this book! His _dead dad_ , and now Alma has it for some mysterious reason, and she didn’t even tell us about it! How the hell do you think he’s going to react?”

Jack chewed his lip. “He’d probably throw her out of the van.”

“Exactly! Do you _want_ social services to take us away?”

“What if she turns out to be an evil Tressler spy and him throwing her out is a _good_ thing?”

“Do you seriously think Alma is an evil spy, Jack? Really?”

He stopped and considered it, mulling everything over, and after a moment Jack went with his gut and decided no. After spending a long time on the streets, Jack had practically picked up a sixth sense for danger, knowing exactly who wanted to hurt him before they even said anything. He didn’t think Alma wanted to hurt any of them at all. In fact, it was basically the opposite.

Jack trusted his instincts more than his mind, and that had kept him out of trouble and alive. Trusting them again wasn’t too hard.

“No,” he said. “She’s not.”

Lula nodded. “I could tell she wasn’t sharing everything the first time she met us, but I don’t think she’s evil or anything.” Lula looked down at the bag in her hands. “Actually, this is probably what she was hiding.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Do you think she was ever going to tell us?”

He thought about it, stuffed his hands in his pocket, and nodded.

Lula sighed and threw the bag strap over her shoulder, clamoring over boxes and piles of junk back to the front seat. She put Alma’s bag back in its place and came back to Jack, dusting off the front of her hoodie.

“I think we should just ask her about it,” she said, looking up at her friend. Jack stared at her in surprise, blinked, and then grinned.

“You know, Lula,” he said, “I think that may be the smartest and most logical decision you’ve made all day.”

Lula nearly shoved him out of the van.

* * *

They didn’t get an opportunity to talk to Alma until later that day, when they stopped for a lunch break at a Cracker Barrel. On the ride there, Jack had listened into her and Dylan’s conversation up front, like he had the day before, pretending to practice a card trick and not saying a word. They were getting along pretty well, as far has he could tell. Dylan was starting to tease her, at least, which meant he was getting more comfortable. Alma, on the other hand, would get him back a few minutes later and Jack would have to stop himself from laughing.

At one point, Alma could’ve easily broached the topic of the Eye, and for a second it looked like she was going to. But then Dylan kept right on talking, and Alma let the moment pass without him noticing.

Jack noticed though. He noticed everything.

After lunch, while Dylan filled up the gas tank at a station next door and the other Horsemen were messing around with the cool wooden toys Cracker Barrel always had, Jack and Lula managed to catch Alma alone, asking if they could talk to her outside. She said yes and followed them to the big wraparound porch, walking around to the side away from the gas station.

“So,” she said, crossing her arms, “what’s this all about?”

“Well uh…” Lula glanced at Jack, panic in her eyes. _You talk to her about it_ , they said.

Jack shook his head. _No way, you already started talking._

_I’m not gonna do it!_

_Well, neither am I!_

Lula kicked Jack in the shin, and he accepted defeat. Fine. He’d get Lula back later.

“Um, Alma? Miss Alma?” Jack said, hoping his grin didn’t look as much like a grimace as it felt. “We were just, uh, we were wondering–”

“This is about the Eye book in my bag, isn’t it?” she asked.

Jack and Lula froze, slowly glancing at each other. _Shit, she knows._

Alma just sighed and smiled. “I can tell when someone’s gone through my stuff, you know. You two didn’t do a very good job covering your tracks.”

Jack remembered hurriedly stuffing everything back in Alma’s bag, and he winced. Whoops. Damn it, this was all Danny’s fault. What had he even needed that six of spades for anyway?

“Um…” Jack stuttered, trying to think of something to say, but Lula, being Lula, beat him to it.

“Sorry we went through your stuff,” she said nervously. Jack could tell she was about to start babbling. “We just, you know, wanted to see if you had anything cool. Not so we could take it! We’re just kinda curious, and it was more my idea anyway so really it’s my fault, not Jack’s, and actually the book is really cool and we only got to read a little of it and it’s not like we’re going to tell Dylan if you don’t want us to it’s just that the Eye is kind of–”

“We were just wondering,” Jack said, digging his heel into Lula’s toes to stop her from saying anything else, “how you got a book about the Eye and why you have it. Not because, you know. We’re not, like, _in it_ or anything. We just figured it’d be cool to read about or something. And like, we’re curious. You know.”

Alma’s smile widened a little, almost laughing, and she shrugged. “Alright,” she said. “You’re curious. I’ll let you have that one. I bought the book in a pawnshop in New York when I was fifteen. I was there on vacation, and I saw it in the window and thought it looked like a book about the Eye. So I bought it.”

“Wait, you knew about the Eye?” Lula asked, surprised.

“Yes.” Alma smiled. “My teacher told us about them in third grade, when we were learning about the Egyptians. She didn’t tell us a lot, but I thought they were interesting and wanted to learn more.”

Jack and Lula looked at each other. It didn’t _seem_ like she was lying, but it still didn’t explain why she’d brought the book with her from France. That was still a little shifty.

“Why’d you bring it here?” Lula asked.

“Because of Tressler,” Alma replied. “Dylan’s friend at the FBI asked me to research him. I found out he was robbed by the Eye a while ago, and now he goes around–”

“Kidnapping kids like us,” Jack finished. Alma nodded.

“I assumed this case would probably lead to something Eye-related, so I brought the book along. So far, nothing has come up.”

Jack and Lula shared another glance, tension hanging thick between them as they both considered telling Alma, but Lula had a cleverer idea.

“What would you do,” Lula said, “if you ended up finding people who were in the Eye?”

Alma placed her hands on her hips and smiled. “Well,” she said, “even if I did find them, and even if it’s technically my job to turn them in, I don’t think I would.”

“Why not?” Jack asked.

“Because justice, like a lot of things, works more than one way.” Alma sighed, her eyes melancholy for a moment before becoming happy again. “And I also really like magic, and seeing the oldest society of magicians lose talented members is probably something I’d never get over.”

Jack and Lula grinned; from the way Alma was talking, they knew she was referring to them. _She called us talented magicians,_ Jack thought. _I mean, we are, but it’s still nice to hear it._

There was still one more thing to ask about though. Jack chewed his lip and looked back up at Alma.

“Uh, one more thing,” he said. “Do you… know very much about Lionel Shrike?”

The confusion on her face as soon as he mentioned the name was enough to convince him she wasn’t lying. “No, not really. Only what I’ve read in the book. Why?”

Jack’s mind blanked, trying to think of a reason, but Lula just shrugged and smiled. “Just curious,” she said. “Danny became a magician because of Lionel Shrike, so we just wanted to know more about him.”

“Really?” Alma asked, surprised. “He was? That’s… wow. Okay.”

“What?” Lula asked.

“Nothing, just… Fate always seems to find a way, doesn’t it?”

Jack didn’t really know what she meant by that, but the look on her face made it seem like Alma was contemplating the mysteries of life. He wasn’t sure why talking about a dead magician would do that, but hey, he wasn’t the mentalist here.

Henley came outside before they could talk about anything else, and they all went back into the store to look at toys again, dropping the subject. But Jack and Lula decided to show Alma a few tricks before they had to leave, and she seemed really excited. By the time Dylan drove back into the Cracker Barrel parking lot, Alma was trying to do a trick with Jack’s cards, grinning from ear to ear.

None of them had noticed Dylan while they were out on the porch talking about the Eye, his back pressed to the wall, listening to every word they said.


	12. Books

Dylan wasn’t usually one to snoop, but he also wasn’t one to trust easily. Being part of a cult did that to a person. Being hunted by several people across the contiguous United States with five kids with shady pasts to watch out for did it too. Dylan had Jack’s sense for danger, Merritt’s eye for emotions, and (almost) Henley’s intelligence, all wrapped up in someone who trusted people as easily as sheep trusted wolves. He wasn’t about to let the wolf know he knew that’s what she was.

But he didn’t, really. He didn’t believe Alma could hurt them like that. And if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he didn’t really want to believe it either.

So, against Dylan’s better judgment, he decided to pull a Jack and Lula and snoop.

It was eleven pm when Dylan finally pulled off the highway and parked in the McDonald’s parking lot next to a gas station. Everyone else was asleep – Henley, Danny, and Merritt were all snoring, Lula and Jack curled up and silent like always. Alma was sleeping in the passenger seat, the back leaned all the way down with its headrest in the seat of the chair behind it, a blanket haphazardly thrown over her. It was pretty comfortable – that was where Dylan usually slept, since the driver’s seat wasn’t as roomy what with the steering wheel and all. But Alma wasn’t used to this sleeping-on-the-road thing, so he let her have it. Besides, she sat there for most of the day anyway. It wasn’t like it was a big deal.

He turned off the gas and took out the key, putting it in the cup holder in front of the armrest, and finally let himself lean back and relax. Driving for this long was taking its toll on Dylan – usually, they just wandered from town to town, performing for whoever wanted to see and only driving a few hours every day. Oglethorpe had been their first formal venue in a while, and the biggest one yet. A member of the university’s student life administration had seen them perform in a smaller town and asked if they could do a show at Oglethorpe for a pretty decent amount of money.

Dylan wondered what would’ve happened if he’d said no. They probably wouldn’t be headed to L.A. for starters. And Alma wouldn’t be here either. But hey, at least Dylan wouldn’t feel so goddamn burned out at the end of the day, right?

He rubbed his face and pushed those thoughts out of his mind – there was a reason he was still awake, and he needed to focus. Dylan quietly unbuckled his seatbelt, glancing at Alma to make sure she was still asleep.

She was. Her hair was down and a few strands were falling into her face, the blanket pulled up under her arm, and Dylan couldn’t help but notice how peaceful she looked while asleep. It was nice. She’d asked if they could stop at a Laundromat sometime soon since she’d only brought a few changes of clothes, he remembered. There was probably one nearby – he could look for it in the morning.

 _She has a book about the Eye,_ part of Dylan’s brain reminded him, and he snapped out of his daze, realizing he was staring again. Damn it. Slowly and quietly, he reached over to her side of the car and opened her bag, pulling out the book with ease.

He placed it in his lap and glanced over at her. No movement. He pulled a penlight out of his pocket and put it on its dimmest setting, glancing over again. Still no movement. Dylan told himself to stop being so paranoid and just open the damn book already, you need to see what she knows.

The golden glint from the Eye symbol on the cover caught him off guard for a second, and he quickly stopped shining the light on it. That was an old Eye symbol, the Eye of Horus with the hexagon pupil. He hadn’t seen that symbol in a while; what was it doing on a book owned by an Interpol agent?

_What’s my father have to do with a book owned by an Interpol agent?_

Dylan flipped open the cover and moved the penlight down the first page, scanning over the names. All these magicians were members of the Eye. His pulse thrummed in his chest as he reached the last name, almost dropping the penlight in shock.

_So that’s why they asked Alma about him._

Dylan had told the kids who his father was a while ago, and a few of them already knew who he was. Danny especially – he’d _become_ a magician because of Lionel Shrike, something Dylan had found out while listening to him talk to Jack one day. Jack and Lula must’ve seen his dad’s name in the book and asked about it to see if Alma knew who he was too. But from what he’d heard, she had no idea who Shrike was aside from whatever he’d written in this book, or that Dylan was his son.

 _She has to be lying,_ he thought. _This doesn’t make any sense. Coincidences this huge just don’t happen._

But there’d been no trace of dishonesty in Alma’s voice when she was speaking to Jack and Lula. Even without seeing her face, Dylan was sure of that. He just couldn’t understand how something like this could’ve happened.

He brushed his finger over his dad’s name and sighed, realizing this had probably belonged to him at some point. His mind flashed back to several years ago, right after his father had died and he and his mom were cleaning out the apartment to sell whatever they didn’t need. A lot of his dad’s stuff had been sold to pay for food and rent, and Dylan had the vague memory of seeing a book similar to this in a box of his dad’s stuff they’d sold to a pawnshop owner.

_I wonder…_

He flipped through a few pages of the book, skimming the text and reading any of his dad’s annotations he could find. Every time he read one he felt a rush of bittersweet emotion. _This was his, once,_ he thought. _I wonder if he would’ve shown me it. I wonder if this would’ve been mine eventually too._

And here he was, holding it in his hands. It was like seeing a ghost.

Dylan read a few of Alma’s notes too. He didn’t know much French, but they were a mixture of French and English that he could understand a little. A lot of the older ones, written on faded sticky notes and tanning index cards, were filled with excited scribbles and sarcastic comments, obviously written when Alma was a teenager. The newer notes were detailed, dissecting the organization and its plans, commenting on its noble beginnings, and listing a few Eye movements in the past few years and what they’d done to help people or expose corruption. When he read that index card, Dylan smirked; this barely even listed a fifth of what the Eye had done in that time. But he was still amazed that she’d connected any of these with the Eye at all.

The one thing that struck Dylan about her notes was that very few of them were negative. He could tell she admired the Eye, despite it technically being a criminal organization. They stole, they trespassed, and they exposed dangerous people in very powerful positions, but they didn’t do it without purpose. They didn’t kill, they didn’t keep any of the money, they didn’t blackmail or bargain or let innocent people get hurt. The Eye had rules for a reason – they never let themselves turn into what they destroyed.

He sighed and turned to another page, catching sight a note his dad had written in the margin. It was next to a paragraph about how children of Eye members were allowed automatic entrance, so long as they too were magicians and had complete faith in the Eye. The passage was underlined.

 _Well look at that,_ his dad had written. _I guess my talented boy will be joining me here too._

Dylan felt like a rock was caught in his throat.

He swallowed down the lump and took a shaky breath, trying not to cry. It was late – he was tired and emotional, and he needed to go to sleep. Snooping around had just served to widen the void he’d felt since his father’s death, and that kind of karma alone was enough to tell him to stop. He could ask Alma about all this tomorrow morning.

But as he moved to close the book, a quiet voice stopped him.

“Should I just put a lock on my bag, or should I just forget any sense of privacy I had altogether?”

He froze, staring at the pages without seeing, caught red-handed like a kid with his fingers in the cookie jar. Immediately, he felt ashamed. Then he felt angry with himself for feeling ashamed – she was the one who’d kept this a secret from him in the first place.

_But she doesn’t know Lionel Shrike was your father._

Dylan sighed and turned off the penlight, figuring if now was when they were supposed to talk about this, then now it would be. Fine.

He hoped she hadn’t seen him almost cry.

“A lock won’t keep out me and Jack,” he replied quietly, conscious of the kids sleeping in the back of the van. He turned and saw Alma’s blue-gray eyes in the dark, watching him like a hawk. Or an owl. “Why do you have this?”

She was propped up on one elbow, head in her hands, strands of hair tucked behind her ears. “I assume you overheard my talk with Jack and Lula?”

“Yes.”

“Then you already know.”

Her gaze was unwavering and a little unnerving, and Dylan turned back to the book, still open in his lap. He absentmindedly thumbed a few of the post-its, mulling over everything in his head.

 _She wasn’t lying,_ Dylan thought, knowing it was true. It’d be easier to explain all this if she was – Alma was a Tressler spy, Alma was secretly part of the Eye, Alma was sent here to take him and the kids away for association with a criminal organization of magical thieves. A thousand other theories flew through his head, crazy theories that all suggested Alma wanted to hurt them. But Dylan knew they couldn’t be true. Not after what he’d just read. Not with her sitting right next to him, every facial tick and telltale sign of a lie out in the open for him to see. There hadn’t been a single one.

He turned back to her, keeping his voice low. “Did you keep it in here this morning because you knew they would find it?” he asked.

 Alma shook her head. “Not originally,” she admitted. “But I realized they would probably sneak into my bag and find it a few minutes after we left.”

“Why didn’t you try to catch them?”

“I wanted to know if they knew.”

Dylan stared at her, still confused. “Know what?” he asked. “About the Eye?”

“Yes,” Alma said. “And about you.”

He stopped. Alma’s blue-gray eyes stared back at him, one of those small, sad smiles on her lips again. Dylan suddenly remembered what they reminded him of – the Mona Lisa. The Mona Lisa and her small, mysterious smile that seemed to say _I know more than you think, but you’ll never know what I’m thinking._

He’d underestimated the intelligence of Agent Alma Dray.

“I know you’re in the Eye, Dylan,” she said. “I thought you were the first time we met. When Jack and Lula let something slip, I knew. And I knew your Horsemen did too.”

Dylan kept staring at Alma Dray, wishing he could think of what to do or what to say, but his mind was blank. He couldn’t think of anything. He was too tired and overwhelmed to properly react, too amazed he hadn’t figured out Alma Dray before she’d figured out him.

But Alma was waiting for him to speak, so he forced himself to say something.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, almost numb. Alma was Interpol. She was with the FBI. If Alma told them anything, they’d be done for. Social Services would be the least of their problems. And once the FBI arrested them, Tressler could pick them off, one by one, snatching them right out of their cells with help from whomever he had in his pocket.

But Alma just shook her head and smiled. “I thought you said you heard us talking,” she said. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“Why not?” Dylan asked. “Why haven’t you told the FBI? Why haven’t you told Interpol?”

“Like I said, Dylan, justice works many different ways in this world. And any law enforcement agency has to bring any criminal in, no matter their intent.” She shrugged. “As for why I never told Interpol… honestly, I just didn’t want people thinking I was obsessed with a cult.”

Dylan almost laughed at that. He smiled and looked down at the book, studying the drawings and writing and Alma’s erratic collection of sticky notes. “Yeah,” he said, “we are kind of a cult, aren’t we?”

“Eh, there’s no sacrificial blood killings, so I think you’re okay.”

Dylan _did_ laugh at that. Alma seemed to be grinning as much as he was, shifting so she could sit up straight and look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” she said, gesturing towards the book. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m sorry I went through your stuff and read your book.”

“As long as you don’t do it again, I think we’ll be okay.”

He nodded, still smiling. A warm feeling he couldn’t quite identify settled in his chest, and he closed the book and handed it back to her. She took it and put it in her lap.

Dylan realized he really liked it when Alma smiled.

“Why do you like the Eye so much, anyway?” he asked, curious. “You said you learned about it in school, but…”

“I did learn about it in school,” she replied, smiling at the memory. “We were learning about Ancient Egypt, and my teacher mentioned it. At the time it really stuck with me; I wanted to be a magician.”

Dylan raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes, I did. But I wasn’t patient enough to learn the tricks.” She sighed. “When I found the book, I’d stopped trying to be a magician and started looking things up about the Eye instead. I guess the book just sort of… found me.”

Dylan nodded, amazed at the pure, strange coincidence of the situation. The book he hadn’t even realized he’d lost as a kid had been picked up by someone else, someone from another country he’d meet over twenty years later in a parking lot in North Carolina. It was unbelievable.

“Weird, how this all worked out,” he said softly, staring at the book.

“You mean me being fascinated by the Eye and ending up meeting you?” Alma asked. “Yes, I guess. But fate tends to do this sort of thing.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow, watching her face. “Fate? Seriously?”

“What, you don’t think it’s real?” Alma asked with a smile.

“No, not really.” He shrugged. “I mean, if the world really has an almighty plan for everything, you’d think it’d be a little more organized.”

“But that’s the whole beauty of it,” Alma insisted, leaning forward excitedly. “You can’t always figure out what’s going to happen in the end. You just have to trust it to lead you wherever it takes you.”

“Trust the inanimate force of nature that wants to screw with my head and bring me to Nirvana? Yeah right.” Dylan rolled his eyes. “I’m not a very trusting person in the first place.”

“But you’re a magician, aren’t you?” Alma said. “Trust is everything you are. You trust the Eye, and your audience trusts you. Without it, none of your tricks would work. Blind faith in what can’t be seen is what makes magic real.”

He paused and looked at Alma, really, really looked, and the eagerness in her eyes reminded him of a child’s. She was right. Trust and blind faith were what a magician used to amaze people. It was why the Eye operated like it did; it kept the magic alive even for people who thought they knew all its tricks. It kept things awe-inspiring and fantastic and alive. It was fun.

Alma’s smile seemed to warm Dylan to the core. _For someone who didn’t have enough patience to be a magician, she sure understands a lot about the point of magic._

For the second time that night, Dylan realized he was staring, and he glanced away towards the back of the van. It was totally silent, not a single one of the Horsemen moving. He realized something wasn’t quite right.

“Weren’t they snoring before?” Alma asked. _Ah, yes. That’s it._

Dylan chuckled and shrugged. “Well,” he said, raising his voice, “I guess they heard everything we said.”

“Only because you were talking loud enough to wake us up,” Danny droned, his voice partly muffled by his pillow.

He and Alma looked at each other. Well, it’s not like he expected something like this to stay private forever, not with everyone crowded in the same van together. They both laughed, and Danny groaned and slapped his pillow over his head.

“Sorry,” Dylan said towards the back.

“It’s fine,” Merritt said, his beach chair creaking a little as he moved.

“I mean, at least this conversation was pretty interesting,” Henley added, stifling a yawn. “For a second there, I thought I was going to have to roll out of bed and go into attack mode.”

“See, I didn’t even have to worry about that,” Merritt said. “Perks of being a mentalist, Henley, I know exactly what everyone’s thinking.”

“Showoff.”

“Bite me, princess.”

“Guys, shut up,” Danny interrupted, his face still stuffed in his pillow. “Can we please go back to sleep?”

“Yeah, Danny’s right,” Dylan said. “It’s like… Alma, what time is it?”

She checked her watch. “Eleven thirty-three.”

“It’s like eleven thirty-three, guys, everyone go back to sleep.” He gave Alma a grin and she just rolled her eyes, laying back down on her makeshift bed. “No talking, alright?”

“Says you,” Jack grumbled.

“Shh. Sleep.”

He heard a few annoyed sighs, but no one complained. It was pretty late, and they were all fairly tired. Dylan leaned his seat all the way back and snatched a blanket off the back of the chair behind his, kicking off his shoes and double checking the car locks. Once he made sure everything was how it should be, he stretched out as much as he could on the seat and pulled up the blanket, glancing absentmindedly towards Alma.

She had her eyes closed and the blanket pulled up back under her arm, strands of hair still falling in her face as she tried to go back to sleep. The pace of her breath was slow and quiet, and he could just see the trace of a smile on her face. He wondered what she was thinking about.

Dylan sighed and turned away, staring up at the ceiling instead of Alma, and told himself to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, if any of you want to see me go more in depth with this au, check out my aneyeformagic.tumblr.com blog. it's just nysm trash and au ramblings, but hey! that's why you're all here in the first place, right? ;p


	13. Dirty Laundry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you actually try to get sleep for once and end up not updating for like three days
> 
>  
> 
> (i'm so sorry please forgive me)

“Are we stopping soon?”

Dylan sighed and scowled at Merritt, who was leaning over into the driver’s area of the van, elbows resting on the chairs. His hat was lopsided.

“Why, do you need to stop?” he asked.

“No, not really.”

“Then why are you up here?”

“I don’t know Dylan, I think you’re just fun to annoy.”

Alma laughed – Henley had basically accepted her usurping her front seat for the time being – and Merritt noticed Dylan’s ears turn a little pink. _Embarrassed?_ But no, Dylan was smiling a little too. So embarrassed, but also enjoying himself. His eyes flicked to Alma then back to the road, his grip on the steering wheel tensing for a second.

Merritt raised an eyebrow, and then quickly put it back down when Dylan glared at him accusingly.

 _Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me_.

“So, Alma,” Merritt said casually, leaning over towards the Interpol agent. “How have you been enjoying your time in el Casa De Horsemen?”

“It’s _la_ casa, Merritt,” Jack said, sitting on a box by the side door. “And this is hardly a house.” Merritt ignored him.

“Alma?” he asked.

“It’s been fine, actually,” Alma replied, smiling and looking out the window. “I’m enjoying the views.”

“The views?” Dylan asked. “Of what, cows?”

“Maybe.”

“Cows aren’t that interesting, Miss Interpol. Don’t they have cows in France?”

“Yes, they do, but these cows are different.”

“Really? How so?”

“Well, for starters, I never saw any cows in France from inside a messy old van.”

“What?!” Dylan made an offended sound, glancing at Alma in betrayal. “You said you _liked_ the van!”

“I do like the van, Dylan. That doesn’t mean it’s not messy.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Hm.” Alma smirked. “Says the man driving across a country with five magicians in the back of his van.”

“Alright–”

Merritt shook his head and left the two of them to their squabbling, stepping over Lula and a box of Danny’s magic props to the back of the van. Henley was sitting under her bunk on the couch, legs stretched out across the floor as she focused on something on her laptop. Merritt squeezed under her bunk and sat next to her.

“Watcha doing?” he asked, taking a peek at her screen.

“Coding,” Henley replied. Her screen looked like gibberish, so Merritt decided to take her word for it.

“Coding what?” he asked.

“A hacking stick,” she said, “for lack of a better term. It’s a device I can plug into any computer with a USB port and extract protected information. I have to program all my decoding algorithms into the stick first, and depending on what kind of barrier comes up, it’ll deploy whatever method I’d use to take it down. I also have to make sure it doesn’t trip any detection alarms, which is the hard part really, but once it’s gotten through all the barriers and firewalls, it deletes my programming and downloads all the computer’s information–”

“Yeah, okay, you lost me in the middle there,” Merritt interrupted, not having understood a word. “What’s this thing for?”

“I don’t know,” Henley said with a shrug. “I’ve been working on this for a while. Figured we might need to use it what with us trying to take down Tressler and everything, which is why I’ve had to reprogram it to–”

“Alright, miss miracle IT princess, I got it.” Merritt huffed and tried not to get irritated; Henley was only seventeen, but she obviously had more brains than anyone in this entire van. What with both her parents being highly successful entrepreneurs and owning an IT company, that wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it still kind of pissed Merritt off. He could read people like nobody’s business, but he’d been barely passing college when his shit brother had stolen all his money and basically forced him to drop out. The fact that someone six years younger than him was this much smarter than him was a bit of a blow to his ego.

But Merritt had more important matters to discuss with Henley.

“Hey, could you stop that for a sec?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure, hold on.” Henley typed a few more lines of code onto her screen and shut her laptop, turning to face Merritt. “What is it?”

“It has to do with the two responsible adults at the front of the van.”

Henley leaned around Merritt’s shoulder and glanced at them – Dylan and Alma were busy chatting and teasing each other, both with grins on their faces. Lula was sleeping on the van floor, and Danny and Jack were busy playing some kind of card game, so it was really just the two of them in the back. No one would overhear them.

“Yeah, what about them?” Henley asked, sitting back to look at Merritt.

“Well…” Merritt adjusted his hat and coughed. “I don’t want to… _imply_ anything, but there is a very palpable tension between the two of them. Like, you can touch it.”

Henley stared at him. “Merritt, I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of palpable.”

“You know what, smarty pants?”

“Okay, okay, shut up. What were you saying?”

Merritt groaned and fiddled with his hat a little more. _Stupid Henley_. “As I was saying,” he said, “Dylan and Alma.”

She watched him expectantly. “Yes?”

He coughed again. “Notice anything different about Dylan?”

Henley narrowed her eyes, suspicious, before they went wide and she leaned around his shoulder again to watch the two adults. Alma was talking about something, something Henley couldn’t really make out, but she was grateful they were stopped in traffic; Dylan was staring at Alma with a smile on his face like she’d hung the moon.

_Oh shit._

“Oh,” Henley said, sitting back. “My. God.”

Merritt gave her a panicked look, nodding his head. “See what I mean?”

“Oh my god.”

“This is bad.”

“Oh my _god_.” Henley felt a grin slip onto her face, almost laughing outright. This was ridiculous. This was _priceless_. How had she not seen this coming?

“Henley, come on! This is not a joke!” Merritt hissed, shaking her by the shoulders. “This is a _problem!_ ”

“What? How?” she asked, still grinning.

“Because she’s a cop! Literally a cop!”

“Oh come on, Merritt, you heard what she said last night.” Henley gave him a light shove and glanced towards the adults again. Dylan was having a hard time keeping his eyes on the road when Alma laughed. And she could just barely see a blush on his ears.

“It’s been a _day_ ,” Henley said, almost in awe.

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“What do you think set it off? Last night?”

“Oh hell yeah it was last night!” Merritt stared at her like she was crazy. “That whole spiel she gave about trust and magic and everything? I mean come on, the guy’s a goddamn romantic. It’s pathetic.”

“Do you think she…?”

“Knows? No. And I don’t think he knows either.” Merritt straightened his hat nervously. “We should probably keep it that way.”

“What about, I mean, does she–”

“Reciprocate? I don’t know.” Henley gave him a look. “What? I don’t! I mean she might, but at this point I think she’s just being nice. I don’t know her as well as Dylan, princess, I can’t exactly say much.”

“Merritt, you read people’s minds for a living.”

“I’m not goddamn Professor Xavier, Reeves.”

Henley rolled her eyes and stole another glance, Merritt taking one with her. Now Dylan was talking, waving one hand around and jabbering on like a monkey, Alma listening to him with her elbow on the windowsill.

“He’s in deep,” she said, shaking her head. Dylan _never_ talked this much, especially to someone he didn’t know. “What the hell do we do about this?”

“I have no idea!”

Henley sighed and sat back. “Alright, well,” she said. “We shouldn’t try to do anything, not until we know how Alma feels.”

“And once we figure that out?”

Henley shrugged. “I mean,” she said, “if they’re happy–”

“No, no, no, wait a sec, hold on.” Merritt grabbed Henley’s shoulders again and stared at her. “Are you seriously suggesting we try and set up our impromptu magician cultist dad with a French Interpol agent?”

“Only if she’s okay with it, and only if we think it’ll make them both happy.” Henley shrugged and smiled. “What’s the problem, Merritt?”

“It’s– this is not– it’s been a day, Henley!”

“Yeah, and?”

He stared at her, then glanced back at Dylan and Alma, then turned to her again. This was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. They were living in a goddamn rom com, and they weren’t even the main characters.

He sighed and put his head in his hands. “Damn it.”

“You know you like her too.”

“Yeah, okay, we all do but…” He looked up at Henley. “This is crazy.”

“We’re magicians, Merritt, our entire lives are crazy.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, what do we do?”

Henley took another glance behind Merritt and leaned back again, shrugging as she opened up her laptop.

“Let’s just see what the day brings,” she replied. “Shall we?”

* * *

They stopped for lunch in a small town in Arkansas, already having showered and everything earlier that day, and Dylan somehow managed to locate a Laundromat a few miles off the highway. Alma thanked him and brought her clothes so she could wash them, and Jack and Lula – who’d apparently taken a liking to her – decided to keep her company. Dylan dragged the other three off on a mission to put on a show and scrounge up money, so it was really just Alma and the two little delinquents in the Laundromat.

Which was fine, actually. Jack and Lula were great company. And while Alma’s clothes were being washed, they decided to show her how to do another card trick.

“Okay, so the trick is you have to shuffle them like this,” Jack said, demonstrating as slowly as possible. Alma nodded and tried it with another own deck, one Jack apparently kept in his jacket pocket. When Jack had pulled out two decks of cards out of his pocket so easily, Alma was confused. Lula told her Jack kept no less than four decks of cards on his person at all times, which didn’t clear things up as much as she’d have liked it to, but it was good enough.

“Nice!” Lula said, grinning at her shuffle. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

“I was always bad at shuffling,” Alma muttered, trying to hide her smile. She still liked doing magic – even after all these years, it was still fun.

“Okay, now, this is the tricky part,” Jack said, showing her with his own deck. “You gotta move the middle card like so, and then flip your finger up really fast and grab both cards. Got it?”

“Eh, kind of.” Alma tried it with her own cards and ended up flipping the entire deck across the room. Cards scattered everywhere, and she winced.

“Oops,” she said, climbing off the bench to pick up the cards. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay! This trick is pretty hard,” Jack said. He and Lula bent down to help Alma get the cards, the three of them easily collecting them all within a minute. “You’ll get it eventually.”

“I hope so,” Alma sighed, handing her cards back to Jack. He shook his head and pushed what cards he had towards her, Lula doing the same.

“Here, you can keep it,” he said with a grin. “So you can practice whenever!”

“He has plenty of decks, don’t worry,” Lula added.

“Oh.” Alma smiled and tentatively took the cards, neatly aligning them all in her hand before slipping them into her jacket pocket. “Thank you, Jack, I’ll make sure to keep practicing.”

He nodded, and Lula whispered something in his ear, pointing at a plant in the corner. Alma gave them a weird look; what were they talking about?

Jack shook his head. Lula gave him a pleading look. Eventually, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Yes!” Lula said, grinning and grabbing Alma’s hand. “Here, here, watch Jack! He can do the coolest things!”

“Whatever,” Jack mumbled, slipping a card out of his deck. He looked at the plant and glanced back at them. Lula gave him a thumbs up.

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the plant. Then, to Alma’s amazement, he threw the card through the air and sliced one of the plant’s leaves clean off.

“Oh, wow!” Alma said, staring at him in disbelief. “That was amazing!”

“I know, right!” Lula said excitedly, jumping up and down. “It’s so cool! And he can just _do_ it, it’s like magic!”

“Of course it’s like magic, Lula, I’m a magician,” Jack mumbled, but Alma could see a small smile and the hint of a blush on his cheeks. Lula just giggled and punched him on the shoulder.

“Ha, ha, mister cool guy, it’s still an awesome trick.”

Jack grinned and shrugged. “Yeah, okay,” he admitted. “It’s awesome.”

“How did you do it?” Alma asked, still amazed.

Jack shrugged again and slipped a few more cards into his hand, fiddling with them. “I dunno,” he said, “I just can. It’s like… you have to let the card do the work, but you’re kind of, I don’t know, guiding it? Like it only cuts through the air like that if you throw it _just_ the right way.”

“And he does it _every single time_ ,” Lula said, pulling on his arm like a monkey. Jack rolled his eyes and looked away, still smiling. “Seriously! I’m convinced he’s actually got magic powers or something. Are you an X Man, Jack? I think you’re an X Man.”

“I’m not an X Man, Lula.”

Lula gave Alma a disbelieving look, and she just shrugged in reply. These two were adorable, she had to admit. They were like twins. Best friends that complimented each other in every possible way. It was endearing. And, if Alma was being perfectly honest, rather amusing.

The washing machine beeped, and Alma sighed; time to return to laundry. She transferred her wet clothing into a dryer and inserted a few quarters to start the machine before turning back to Jack and Lula, who were now trying to do coin tricks and mostly succeeding.

Alma shook her head. “Do you two ever stop practicing magic?” she asked with a smile.

Lula thought about it before shaking her head no. “Eh, not really,” she said, flipping her quarter towards Alma. She caught it easily. “That was yours, by the way.”

Alma just shook her head and slipped the coin back into her pocket. Of course it was. These kids and their pickpocketing. Not exactly an honest skill, but with fingers as nimble as theirs it couldn’t be hard – besides, Dylan didn’t let them steal anything permanently. Now they just used it for tricks and gimmicks.

Alma sighed again. Was there anything these two _couldn’t_ do?

She was just about to ask that question when someone ran past the Laundromat door at top speed, catching all three pairs of eyes. Was that… Danny?

A second later, another person ran past: Dylan. Something akin to fear settled in Alma’s gut, and the worried expressions on both their faces did nothing to soothe it. What was going on?

The answer came a few seconds later in the form of Merritt, bursting halfway into the Laundromat with his chest heaving.

“Bradley,” he wheezed, tilting his hat back on his head so they could see his face. “Danny saw Bradley.”

Jack and Lula shared looks of panic, but Alma was still confused. “Who’s Bradley?” she asked. Obviously someone they knew, but not someone they liked. And something else was bothering her: where was Henley?

“A P.I. from L.A.,” Jack answered, slipping the coin up his sleeve. “He’s bad, real bad.”

“Why?” Alma asked, the three of them moving quickly towards the door. Merritt stepped back and beckoned them forward, running after Danny and Dylan.

“Because he wants Henley!” Lula shouted, breaking into a sprint as soon as she got outside. “We’ll explain later!”

“Wait, what? Why?” But the kids ran ahead before Alma’s questions were answered, sprinting like cheetahs down the street. Alma stood dumbstruck outside the Laundromat, watching them run and wondering what had just happened.

 _A P.I.?_ She thought. _Isn’t that a Private Investigator? What does a Private Investigator want with Henley?_

Alma had no idea, but the expressions on Jack and Lula’s faces were enough to convince her this man was someone to worry about. Someone who wanted to hurt Henley, one way or another. And with Dylan and Danny running after him like that, with Henley missing and obviously in trouble…

Alma was put on this trip specifically to protect the Horsemen from dangers like this, and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to do exactly that. Hoping she wasn’t too late, Alma pulled out the gun at her belt and flicked off the safety, sprinting down the sidewalk after the Horsemen.


	14. What Happens in Arkansas...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for that cliffhanger y'all, but hey, here's the rest of it! and thank you all for the amazing comments and everything, I really appreciate it. I'm glad I'm not the only one that loves this stupid magician family way too much :D

Dylan’s feet slammed against the pavement as he chased after Danny, heart racing faster than he could’ve thought possible. He nearly barreled over a little kid and sprinted down an alley. The kid’s parents yelled at his back, but he ignored them; he had more important matters to deal with.

 _Thaddeus grabbed Henley!_ Atlas had yelled, running past where Merritt and Dylan were trying to gather a crowd near to the van. _He came up behind us and shoved me to the ground and snatched her! Hurry!_

Dylan hadn’t even thought before abandoning the van and racing after Danny, Merritt close on his heels.

_Thaddeus grabbed Henley!_

That no-good son of a bitch was going to get it this time, Dylan was sure of it.

How the hell had he already caught up to them?

He could hear Merritt, Jack, and Lula behind him, yelling at him to wait, but Dylan didn’t slow down – Danny was still sprinting a few feet ahead, ducking down alleys and trying to find Thaddeus. A second later, he caught up and realized what Atlas was really doing – following Henley’s muffled screaming.

“Which way?” Dylan asked, already almost winded from the running. There was a split up ahead in the alleys, and he couldn’t tell where the screaming was coming from.

Danny shook his head. “I don’t know!” he yelled. “Split up!”

Dylan nodded and went left – Danny went right. He had no idea where everyone else was or if they were even still following at this point, but he didn’t care. He had to find Henley. He had to find both her and Bradley before he got away. Losing her was not an option, not today, not ever; _especially_ not to Thaddeus Bradley.

If Dylan hadn’t been so distracted, he probably would’ve noticed the shiny designer dress shoe sticking out from behind a corner like a bear trap.

One second he was sprinting at top speed, and then his foot caught on something and he smashed into the ground like a crashing freight train. He skidded a few feet and slammed into a pile of trash, hitting his head on something hard and metal that _hurt_ , holy god that hurt. Stars blossomed in his vision and he pain registered everywhere all at once. And someone close by was groaning; it took him a minute to realize it was him.

Dylan’s vision cleared a little, his head spinning, and he saw two pairs of shoes in front of him – two-inch heels and designer oxfords. The person with the heels was struggling.

 _Henley_.

His view up wasn’t much better; Thaddeus Bradley was leering down at him, one arm wrapped around Henley’s torso and arms and his other hand covering her mouth. She kicked and struggled, her eyes panicked, but Bradley was stronger than he appeared. She wasn’t getting out.

Dylan lifted his head and felt the world spin. “Let her go,” he said through gritted teeth.

Bradley just chuckled, watching Dylan try and pick himself up from the trash. Poetic, really. This jackass was dead meat.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you Shrike?” he said. Dylan could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Quite a graceful fall there, by the way. For a second I almost thought I’d killed you.”

“You’re gonna wish you had,” Dylan growled, but Thaddeus’s foot came out of nowhere and slammed into Dylan’s stomach. The air rushed out of his lungs and he strained to breathe, falling back to the pavement.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Bradley replied, backing up. “But as you can see, I’m–”

He yowled suddenly in the middle of his sentence, jerking his hand off of Henley’s mouth, and Dylan realized what’d happened; she’d bitten him. Fury blazed in her eyes as she slammed the heel of her shoe onto his toes, and Thaddeus’s grip slackened enough for her to twist away.

But Bradley was quick too – he snagged her arm and yanked back, Henley skidding slightly in her heels and her back slamming into the wall. She kicked him in the chest and sent him back a few feet, reaching down to take off one of her heels.

Dylan finally managed to suck air into his lungs as Thaddeus stared at Henley, smirking.

“What,” he asked, “you going to fight me with a pair of stilettos?”

But Henley smirked right back and shifted her thumb, pressing it up against the base of the shoe’s heel. A tiny switchblade flicked up, sticking out of the heel like a weapon out of a spy movie.

“Yep,” Henley said.

The smug grin on Thaddeus’s face slipped off like butter on the hood of a hot car.

She yelled and swung the shoe at him, Bradley jumping back and shoving his hand into his pocket to draw a pistol. But before he could even point it at Henley, before Dylan could clamber up and tackle him to the ground and probably get shot, a gunshot rang out and the brick on the corner near Bradley exploded into grainy bits of dust.

Everyone froze and whipped towards the opposite end of the alley, Dylan expecting to see the police or Tressler’s men, but instead, he saw something better.

Alma Dray holding a gun at Thaddeus Bradley’s head.

“Thaddeus Bradley,” she said, eyes narrowed towards him like lasers. “You’re under arrest.”

For a brief second, nobody moved. Then Bradley snapped his gun towards Alma and shot two bullets in her direction, sprinting down the side alley as soon as she ducked behind a trashcan. Dylan scrambled to his feet as Alma ran out from her hiding spot, both of them sprinting after Thaddeus, but when they reached the side alley and stared down it… he was gone.

Dylan cursed, his head spinning again, and Alma lowered her weapon. The two of them looked at each other before turning to Henley.

She was clutching the shoe in her hand, knife still sticking out of the heel, staring down the alley with an expression Dylan could only describe as lost.

“Henley?” he asked. “You okay?”

She blinked and looked up at him, taking a breath before nodding. “Yeah,” she breathed, swallowing. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure?” he asked, still concerned. Henley met his eyes and nodded again.

“I’ll be okay, just…” She took another deep breath. “Just give me a minute. That was a little, um. Overwhelming.”

Dylan nodded and turned to Alma, who was holstering her gun with a strange expression on her face. He opened his mouth to thank her, but the sound of running footsteps interrupted him before he could.

From the end Alma had just come from, Danny, Merritt, Jack, and Lula all burst into the alley, skidding to a halt when they saw the scene. Their chests were heaving, eyes wide and terrified.

“We heard gunshots, we…” Danny gasped, glancing between the three of them. “Did… was anyone–”

“No one’s hurt,” Dylan said, moving towards Henley. The world swayed beneath him and he nearly stumbled, Alma grabbing his arms and holding him up before he could.

“Whoa, you okay?” she asked. Her eyes were silver blue and filled with worry. A strand of blonde hair was in her face.

Dylan nodded and shook her off. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Hit my head. I’m fine.”

Alma obviously didn’t believe him though, because she kept on hand on his arm as he turned towards Henley. He didn’t shake her off.

“Didn’t know you had knives in your shoes, Hen,” he said, giving her a smile. Henley returned it and shifted her thumb again, the knife flicking back down into its place, hidden in the heel.

“Figured I should have some just in case I needed to be fashionable and still carry a weapon,” she said, slipping the shoe back on. “I mean, they’re called stilettos for a reason.”

Dylan just chuckled, noticing Lula stare at Henley’s shoes in awe.

“ _I want them_ ,” she whispered, eyes wide. Dylan shook his head and immediately regretted it.

“Augh, shit,” he hissed, vision swimming again. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach and he doubled over, both Henley and Alma supporting him now. The other kids rushed forward, Jack asking what was wrong.

“Concussion,” Merritt said immediately. “What the hell did you do, Dylan?”

“Nothing, really,” Henley said, watching him carefully. “Bradley tripped him and he slammed his head on a dumpster. Alma’s the one that did the saving.”

“Oh, wow Dylan, very heroic,” Danny quipped with a smirk.

“Please don’t ruin my dignity until my head stops spinning. Please.”

Jack straightened and looked down the alley, and Dylan realized why a second later: sirens. Cops were coming, probably because of the gunshots, which meant they needed to get out of here fast.

“Cops,” Jack said. “We need to go. Now.”

“What?” Alma asked. “But Dylan’s head, he can’t–”

“I’ll drive,” Henley said immediately. “I’ve got a license. Merritt can take care of Dylan once we get in the van.”

“But the police–”

“Cops ask questions,” Dylan said, another wave of nausea making him pause for a moment. “Too many questions. It’s better if we leave, now.”

“I have questions of my own, Dylan.”

“We can answer them in the van,” Danny said, anxiety speeding his voice up to a nervous chatter. “Seriously, come on. We need to go now, before the cops get here.”

Alma paused, staring at Dylan, and again Dylan realized there was a strand of hair in her face. Maybe, if he could just push it behind her ear…

“Alright,” she said, turning to Merritt. “Let’s get to the van. Go.”

The kids nodded and hurried down the side alley, Jack and Lula guiding them back towards the van as Dylan’s vision spun like a top. Merritt replaced Henley so she could get to the driver’s seat. Jack and Lula ran ahead to make sure there weren’t any cops in the parking lot.

The whole walk back, Dylan focused on Alma’s arm wrapped around his side, keeping him from falling.

* * *

Henley got them out of the town easily, cruising on the highway with Danny in the passenger seat, while Dylan sat in the chair behind Henley and tried to keep from falling asleep. Alma sat in the other chair, watching him, while Merritt and Jack tried to busy themselves near the back of the van.

 _Concussion_ , Merritt had said. _Don’t let him sleep until his pupils aren’t dilated. Once he can hold a conversation, let him snooze._

Dylan didn’t seem like he wanted to sleep at the moment anyway, but Alma wasn’t taking any chances. It felt strange, being in the van without Dylan driving. But Henley, as far as Alma could tell, was a superb driver, so she wasn’t too worried.

Once they were a good few miles away from the town, Dylan sighed and broke the silence hovering in the van like a knife.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s talk. Alma, you said you had questions. What are they?”

Everyone turned to her, and Alma clenched her jaw stubbornly, organizing her thoughts. This was as good of a time as any to discuss things.

“Who is Thaddeus Bradley?” she asked.

The person who answered, to Alma’s surprise, was Henley.

“Bradley is a private investigator from L.A.,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the road. “My parents hired him to do whatever it took to bring me back to them. The first time we saw him was the day before the Oglethorpe fiasco, and since then, I guess he’s been following us, trying to find an opportunity to grab me.”

“Grab you?” Alma watched Henley worriedly. “He was hired by your parents?”

Henley nodded tersely. “They live in L.A. too,” she said. “They didn’t want the police involved in trying to find me.”

“Why not?”

Henley didn’t respond, her grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled, and Alma remembered what Dylan had told her during their first day in the van.

 _There’s a reason they don’t want to go back, you know_.

“Henley’s parents are uber rich, high society folks,” Dylan said, his voice still a bit slurred from the concussion. “They don’t want their daughter becoming part of a police investigation since it’ll ruin their reputation.”

Alma looked at Henley. “You ran away from your parents?” she asked.

“Parents that cares more about what people will think of them than their own daughter’s safety aren’t parents,” Henley spat. The van began easing it’s way into the left lane, and Danny carefully reached across the seat and righted the wheel. Alma could see tears in Henley’s eyes.

“Uh, Henley…” he said, glancing back nervously. Dylan turned to Merritt, and he nodded.

“Hey Henley,” Merritt said, “how about you pull over and let me drive for a while? I think you need a little rest too.”

For a moment, it looked like Henley was going to argue, but then her shoulders slumped and she nodded, easing the van towards an exit. A few minutes later, Merritt was in the driver’s seat and Henley was sitting on the floor next to Dylan, leaning against his chair and wrapped up in a blanket. Dylan had his hand on her head and was stroking her hair, sadness in his eyes. Henley looked like she was staring at nothing.

It was the first time Alma had heard the van completely silent during the day, and she could tell she wasn’t the only one who didn’t like it.

“Dylan?” Jack said quietly, sitting on a box near Alma’s chair. “Your pupils aren’t dilated anymore.”

He blinked, snapping out of his stupor, and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, that’s good news,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anytime soon. It’s been a little too hectic for that.”

“You should sleep,” Henley said, her voice small and cracked. “Don’t worry about me.”

Dylan looked down at her. “Hey, come on now,” he said, “that’s my job.”

“No, it’s not.”

Alma saw something in Dylan crack, and he fell silent. Then Henley started crying.

“Shit,” she hissed, covering her face. Lula and Jack looked at each other before hurrying over to her and hugging her. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean that I didn’t mean for this to happen I just, I’m sorry, I didn’t, this is all my fault–”

“Henley, it’s not your fault,” Lula said immediately, her little face far too worried for someone her age.

“But it _is_ , it is it is it is,” Henley said, shaking her head. “If, if I wasn’t here then my _stupid_ parents wouldn’t have sent Thaddeus Bradley after us and Dylan wouldn’t be hurt and I wouldn’t be _crying_ like this and none of this wouldn’t have happened–”

“Henley, this isn’t your fault, it’s your parents’ fault,” Jack said, trying to sound calm. “Okay? It’s all their fault.”

“But, but _I’m_ the one who ran away and if I hadn’t done that–”

“Then we’d be far worse off without you,” Dylan finished, still rubbing Henley’s head. “You know that Henley. You matter a lot to us.”

“But…” She sniffed, and Alma felt something in her stir. She wasn’t going to let this happen, not to Henley. Not if she could help it.

“Henley, listen to me,” Alma said gently, and Henley looked up at her, tears clinging to her eyelashes. “I’ve only known you for two days, and I can already tell you’re one of the smartest, most talented people I’ve ever met. You can do things that nobody else in this van can. You keep it from falling apart, you keep everyone in here together. And if your parents can’t see what an amazing, beautiful daughter they were blessed with, then it isn’t something wrong with you – it’s something wrong with them. Don’t you ever forget that, okay?”

It was silent in the van, everyone staring at her, but Alma’s only focus was Henley. The girl blinked, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks, and a watery smile spread onto her face.

“Thanks, Alma,” she said quietly.

Alma smiled in return, and Henley stood up shakily to give her a hug. She pressed her into her arms as hard as she could, wishing she could convey just how much Henley meant to everyone here in a single gesture, but this was the best she could do.

_There’s a reason they don’t want to go back, you know._

Alma understood now. At least, for Henley she did.

Henley pulled away after a minute and wiped her eyes, smiling at everyone in the van – especially Dylan. “Okay,” she said, “I think I’m going to go take a nap. Thanks guys.”

“A nap is probably a good idea,” Danny said from the front passenger seat.

“Oh, shut up, Danny.”

Henley cracked a smile and walked towards her bunk, and Merritt started chuckling behind the wheel.

“Yep, she’s back,” he said. Even Danny smiled a little at that.

Jack and Lula retreated back to one of the couches, quietly showing each other rope tricks, while Henley climbed into her bunk and Merritt and Danny bickered in the front seat. Behind them, Dylan gave Alma a smile and took her hand resting on the tiny circular table, rubbing the calloused pad of his thumb along the back of her palm.

 _Thank you,_ it said.

Alma smiled back and stared at their hands, clasped together on the table full of children’s doodles and bent playing cards. There was a carving of the Eye symbol near Alma’s side, a post it with a scribbled grocery list near Dylan’s, a blue-inked drawing of six stick figures lying underneath their fingers.

After a few more miles, Dylan fell asleep. Alma kept holding his hand and realized she didn’t want to let go.


	15. The Route I-40 Oklahoma Diner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. after all that fun action and angst, it's back to your regularly scheduled disgusting fluff. cute kids and magic parents everywhere. you have been warned.

The next morning, Dylan woke up on Danny’s couch under Henley’s bunk, a dull headache pounding behind his eyes and the immediate feeling of hunger in his stomach. Jack was asleep on Merritt’s beach chair, Alma was sleeping on the other couch, and Merritt and Danny were sleeping in the front seats. They’d insisted on staying there until Dylan was back to 100%, hence the sleeping arrangement mix up.

Dylan groaned and sat up, cracking his back as he stretched. God, he was getting too old for this. How did Danny _sleep_ on this thing anyway?

“Finally up?” Lula asked, her head peeking down from the bunk over Alma. Dylan grinned and sat up, stretching his legs all the way to Merritt’s beach chair. He could see Jack and Alma stirring too, and a groan from the front seat told him Danny was rising like the dead.

“Yep,” Dylan said, blinking the sunlight out of his eyes. “How long have you been awake?”

“An hour or so. It’s like nine am.”

“Huh.” Dylan rubbed his face, feeling grimy, and his gaze drifted down towards Alma as she shifted a little, trying to wake up. Today would be the third full day with her in the van. For some reason, Dylan felt like it’d been a lot longer.

“Hey Dylan?” Lula asked, hooking her legs over the side of her bunk and swinging down like a monkey. Her wavy black hair hung upside down, and she grinned. “Can we go get breakfast somewhere?”

“What do you mean by ‘somewhere,’ Lula?” he asked.

“I dunno! A diner or something. I’m tired of eating granola bars and dry fruit loops for breakfast. Please?”

Dylan sighed, trying to ignore Lula’s big green puppy eyes so he could say no, when Henley said something from above him.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” she said, sticking her head over the bunk. Her red hair hung down and framed her face like curtains. “I mean, come on Dylan, we deserve it after yesterday.”

“Well, Alma and Henley deserve it,” Danny grumbled, “not so much you.”

“Hardee har har, Atlas. If I remember correctly, you didn’t do anything either.”

“A diner sounds great,” Alma said, still lying on her back on the couch. She gave Dylan a smile, and he realized he was too tired to win this argument. Besides, an actual mug of hot coffee sounded pretty good to him.

Alma tucked some hair behind her ear, and Dylan sighed.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Diner it is.”

Everyone cheered drowsily and started climbing out of bed, the shouting waking Merritt up and causing him to kick the steering wheel. The horn blared, scaring everyone out of their wits, and then Alma started laughing and everyone else laughed with her.

* * *

“Oh no,” Alma said, earning her a weird look from Dylan. The seven of them had sat down in a diner in some rinky-dink town in Oklahoma, Merritt, Henley, and Danny in one booth and everyone else in another. They’d all just ordered their food and gotten drinks. Most everyone had coffee except Danny and Jack, who had water and chocolate milk respectively.

“Oh no what?” Dylan asked. Jack and Lula looked up, Jack sipping chocolate milk through a bendy straw.

“I just realized… I left my clothes in the dryer,” Alma said, bringing her hand up to cover her face.

Jack almost spat chocolate milk trying not to laugh, but Lula elbowed him in the side and he stopped. The kids in the booth behind Dylan and Alma turned around, Henley smiling.

“You mean the dryer… Arkansas?” she asked.

“Yes.” Alma still had her hands over her face, and Dylan could see her ears turning a little pink. He laughed, and Alma kicked him under the table.

“Well, that’s a bit of a problem,” Merritt said, as if that wasn’t already obvious. “Do you think you have enough money to buy some clothes?”

“Yes, I have plenty,” she replied, a little embarrassed. But she’d put her hands back down on the table, so that was good.

“You sure?” Dylan asked. “I can give you some cash if you need any.”

“I’ll be fine, trust me,” Alma said, smiling. “Besides, you need that money to feed the children.”

“Yeah, Dylan,” Henley said, crossing her arms and smirking. “You can only sacrifice food money for fashion when it’s for me.”

“Uh, what?” Danny gave her a look of disgust. “Excuse you, I am the most fashionable person here.”

“That is a _lie_.”

“Is not!”

“Danny, you wore socks with flip flops once and told me it was couture.”

“It was _ironic!_ I did it to annoy you! Dylan, come on, tell Henley I’m obviously the better-dressed Horsemen. It’s true, you know it is.”

Dylan stared at the two of them, mulling over a few answers in his head before deciding to nope out of the situation all together. “Yeah, uh,” he said, “I think I’m gonna go with self-preservation here and plea the fifth.”

“HA!” Henley jabbed Danny in the arm with her finger. “That means it’s me. He’s more scared of me than he is of you.”

“ _What?_ ” Danny yelled.

Dylan turned back around and shook his head, laughing again, and Alma laughed with him. It was a nice laugh, he realized, kind of like bells. _That’s stupid_ , he immediately thought. _Everyone uses bells to describe laughs. Bells are stupid_. He erased the thought and stared at his coffee instead.

“Here, how about a truce,” Alma said, twisting around to stop the bickering before it became loud enough to disturb other people. “Both of you can come with me today to get clothes. I’ll need all the fashion help I can get.”

Danny and Henley stopped, falling silent, and looked at each other before nodding in unison.

“Yeah okay,” Danny said.

“Sounds good,” Henley added.

Alma smiled and turned back around, dusting her hands together like she’d just finished building something. “Problem solved,” she said. Dylan rolled his eyes and lifted his coffee mug.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he said.

Alma gave him a look. “About what?”

“You don’t need fashion help.”

He took a sip from his coffee and stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice Alma blink in surprise in his peripherals. But then she smiled and turned away, and Dylan allowed himself a small grin.

Lula was giving him a weird look, like she was trying to figure him out. He mentally cursed himself for not being subtle and put the mug back down.

“Dylan, can I have your coffee?” Lula asked.

He raised an eyebrow, confused but grateful she wasn’t asking about… what’d just happened. “You have your own coffee, Lula,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, but I finished it.”

“What?” He picked up her mug and looked at it – sure enough, the little gremlin had finished all her coffee. How did she _do_ that?

“Lula, really?” he asked.

“What! I was thirsty!” she said, as if that explained anything. “Please Dylan? _Please?_ Pretty please with a cherry–”

“ _Yes_ , fine, oh my god.” He pushed his own coffee mug towards her and rolled his eyes as she lifted it up to drink. She immediately made a face and stuck out her tongue.

“Bleh,” she said. Jack snorted into his milk. “How do you drink it like this?”

“You mean the way it’s supposed to be?” Dylan countered.

“You don’t even put _sugar_ in it!” But Lula took another sip and made a face again. “Eugh. Nasty.”

“If you don’t want it–”

“No, no! It’s fine.” She grinned and took another sip, Jack rolling his eyes as she made another face. At least he and Dylan were in agreement about Lula’s antics for once.

“Why is Lula drinking coffee anyway?” Alma asked, watching Lula take another gulp out of Dylan’s mug. “Isn’t she the, um, the one that jumps everywhere?”

“You mean hyper?” Dylan asked with a smile. He could tell now when Alma was forgetting words in English, and he was getting pretty good at figuring out what she meant. “Yeah, she is.”

“So, wouldn’t coffee make her more… hyper?”

“Actually,” Lula interrupted, slurping up more coffee, “kids with ADHD have brains that react differently to caffeine.”

Alma raised an eyebrow.

“It calms her down,” Jack clarified.

“Oh.”

Dylan chuckled. “Lula’s got ADHD,” he said. “Hence why she’s bouncing off the walls so often unless she’s focused on something.”

“Or talking to me!” Jack said proudly as Lula’s interest moved over to her rolled up napkin.

“Or talking to Jack, yeah.” Dylan shrugged and glanced back over at Lula, his eyes widening when he saw her slip a knife out of her napkin roll.

“Ooh,” she said, grinning ear to ear.

“Nope!” Dylan snatched it out of her hand and put it over on his side of the table. Lula stared at him in betrayal, and Alma cracked a smile.

“Hey, no fair!” she said. “How come Henley gets to have knives in her shoes and I don’t get a knife at all?”

“Because I’m not worried about Henley accidentally stabbing someone is why.”

Lula opened her mouth to argue, but she apparently found she couldn’t and shut it again. “Okay, fine,” she admitted.

Alma spluttered out another laugh, and Dylan couldn’t help but laugh with her, watching her double over slightly and hold onto her coffee mug handle. Strands of hair kept falling out of her bun, the sun shining through the window behind Dylan and lighting up her face. _Her laugh really does sound like bells,_ he thought. And then: _Stupid, stupid. Not relevant_. _Dylan, you idiot, why do you keep thinking like this?_

He didn’t have time to reflect on that before Jack sprayed chocolate milk all over the table.

Alma and Dylan stopped laughing and stared at him, chocolate milk covering almost every surface of the table and part of Alma’s shirt, Lula staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. The other three kids behind Dylan were silent, and he could only assume they were staring at Jack too.

Jack’s eyes darted between Dylan and Alma, mouth hanging open, before standing up from the table faster than Dylan had ever seen him move in his life.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack said, talking as fast as Danny did on a sugar high, “I didn’t mean to do that I’ll go get some paper towels from the bathroom to clean it up sorry guys I’ll clean it up hold on a sec Lula come help me!”

“ _What?_ ” she asked, but Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the booth too before she could protest, the two of them running into the boy’s bathroom at the back of the restaurant.

Dylan and Alma blinked, trying to process everything.

“Uh,” Alma asked, “what just happened?”

Dylan stared at the bathroom door, trying to come up with an answer, but nothing came.

“You know?” he said. “I’m actually not quite sure.”

* * *

“Jack, what the hell! This is the boys room!” Lula shouted, trying to yank out of his grip, but Jack didn’t let go. He dragged her inside and shut and locked the door, turning around to her with his back to the door like he was blocking her escape.

“Uh, Jack?” Lula asked, a little worried. “You okay?”

“I can’t believe this,” he whispered, staring at nothing like he’d just seen something he was still trying to process. “Oh my god. I can’t believe this.”

“Jack?” Lula asked again.

His eyes darted up and locked onto Lula’s like lasers. “Lula,” he said slowly, “I think Dylan has a crush on Alma.”

She blinked and stared at him.

“What?” she asked.

Jack made some unintelligible noises and gestured in the general direction of their booth through the door, which gave Lula time to think. She mulled over everything that’d happened in the past few days, all the time Dylan and Alma had spent together, all the times she’d seen Dylan staring at Alma like a love-struck middle schooler–

“Wait,” she said. “Wait, yeah. That makes sense.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to stare. “ _What?_ ” he asked.

“No, it makes sense!” Lula said, trying to clarify. “I mean, have you seen how he’s been looking at her the past few days? How much he keeps smiling whenever she’s around? It’s obvious. God, why didn’t I notice this sooner?”

“Wait, wait, wait, it’s _obvious?_ ” Jack asked, staring at Lula like she was crazy. “I just got it because he kept staring at her while she was laughing!”

“Well, yeah, that’s what you _do_ when you like someone,” Lula said, rolling her eyes. Of course Jack wouldn’t get this. Boys. So stupid sometimes.

Jack, however, didn’t think her tone was very amusing and crossed his arms, sulking. Lula just shrugged.

“Okay, alright, fine. Obvious.” Jack grumbled. Then his expression turned panicked again. “ _What do we do?!_ ”

“What do you mean, what do we do?”

“I mean what do we do! He’s in love with a cop! A literal, actual international cop! With like, a badge and everything, do you realize how bad this is for us?”

“Us? I’m not a criminal, Jack Wilder, thank you very much.”

He gave her a look. “You lived in a circus for eleven years.”

“That does not make me a criminal.”

“Okay fine, it doesn’t, whatever.” Jack looked like he wanted to pull his own hair out. “But what about me? I stole a lot of stuff before Dylan found me! What if she finds out? What if she arrests me?”

“Jack, _come on_ ,” Lula said, putting her hands on his shoulders and squeezing. “It’s Alma. I mean, you stole because you needed to eat, dingus, she’s not just gonna stop being a nice, caring, understanding person just because she’s an Interpol agent.”

Jack stared at her darkly. “You underestimate law enforcement.”

“Oh my god.”

Lula shook her head, trying to make Jack chill out. “Look,” she said, “Dylan was a cop, right? An FBI agent.”

“Yeah, but he’s different.”

“Why, because he’s in the Eye? Alma likes the Eye too, remember?”

Jack stared at her, eyes wide, and finally realized she was right. He huffed and deflated, his shoulders drooping.

“Okay,” he said, “alright. Alma’s cool. She’s fine. Alright, I got it. Fine.” He exhaled, finally seeming to calm down, before looking back up at Lula. “Now what?”

“Now what, what?” Lula asked.

“I don’t know! What are we supposed to do now? Just go back and pretend everything is normal?”

“I mean…” Lula shrugged. “Yeah, I guess?”

Jack groaned and threw his head back, banging it against the door repeatedly while Lula rolled her eyes and grabbed some paper towels. They’d need it for the milk. A moment later, Jack got the hint and grabbed some too.

“So we’re just going to do nothing?” he asked, staring at her. Lula rolled her eyes.

“No, dummy, we’ll do something. I’m just gonna ask Henley about it first.” Lula yanked another paper towel out and grinned. “I bet she can talk to Alma about this or something. She’s real good at talking about this kinda stuff.”

“Wait, but, what do we do after that?”

Jack was just helpless unless he was picking pockets or playing with cards, wasn’t he? Lula sighed and turned to him, her expression exasperated.

“We’ll figure it out after I talk to Henley,” she said, pulling away from the wall. “Calm down, Jack, it isn’t the end of the world.”

Jack harrumphed, obviously not convinced, but Lula ignored him. Dumb boys.

“Why are we always the ones that discover something weird about Alma?” Jack asked, pulling paper towels out of the dispenser as Lula walked over to the door.

“Jack, please,” Lula said, flashing him a smug smile as she pulled the door handle. “Merritt and Henley probably figured this out yesterday.”


	16. Plotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:) it's trash time

Once Jack and Lula returned and mopped up most of Jack’s chocolate milk, breakfast came surprisingly quick and everyone scarfed down their food like animals. Then Danny, Henley, and (for some reason) Lula accompanied Alma to a department store that wasn’t too far down the road. While Dylan and the other two boys stuck with the van again and tried to scrape up some cash – hopefully without being interrupted this time – the girls and Danny wandered about the store, trying to find clothes for Alma.

Lula stuck with Henley, which wasn’t much of a surprise to her since it was obvious the younger girl adored her. It was kind of nice, actually; someone actually thought Henley was cool enough to look up to. Weird to get used to, but nice. Today, however, Lula looked more like a spy on a mission than someone sticking around Henley just to spend time with her.

Eventually, they managed to separate themselves from Alma and Danny, who were arguing over another shirt for the third time in ten minutes, and Lula tugged Henley’s sleeve.

“Yeah?” she asked, looking down at her. “What’s up?”

“Uh, question.” Lula twirled her hair with one finger and grimaced. “Do uh, have you noticed something… weird with Dylan lately?”

Henley raised an eyebrow, a little confused, and then it hit her; so _that’s_ why Jack spit chocolate milk all over the table this morning. No wonder he and Lula ran off to the bathroom so fast.

“You mean he likes Alma?” Henley asked, lowering her voice. Lula grinned and sighed with relief.

“Oh thank god,” she said, “I was worried you hadn’t noticed yet.”

“Me, not noticing that? Come on, Lula, what do you take me for, an imbecile?”

Lula giggled and shook her head, bouncing on her toes again. She was excited, Henley could tell. At the moment, she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“Okay, okay, good,” Lula said, smiling. “Good. Look, you need to figure out how Alma feels about him. Please?”

“Dude, what do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past few days?” Henley asked. “It’s just, not exactly easy to broach the topic without it sounding suspicious, you know? This has to be subtle.”

“I _know_ , but…” Lula sighed and rubbed her scalp. “Henley, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dylan this happy for this long before. Like, actually happy. Giddy. He’s ridiculous. We gotta see how she feels about him.”

“What if she doesn’t like him back?” Henley asked, already knowing the answer. “We’re not forcing Alma into something she doesn’t want to do.”

“Oh, yeah, I got that,” Lula said immediately. “But, I mean, you didn’t see her at breakfast this morning. Jack almost choked on his milk they were being so obvious.” She grimaced again and scratched her head. “Okay, mostly Dylan I guess, but Dylan was being really obvious. Alma… I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure that… I think there’s something there.”

“You do?” Henley watched Lula’s face, and the twelve-year-old nodded with more conviction she’d ever seen in her life.

“Yeah,” Lula said. “I do.”

Lula wasn’t Merritt, but Henley trusted her judgment all the same. She wasn’t a Horseman for nothing, after all. If only Henley knew Alma better, if she knew if this was how much she normally smiled, normally laughed, normally joked around and talked about things, it’d be easier. Merritt was better at deciphering that. But Henley, so help her, was doing it like a normal person and playing the whole thing by ear.

At least she had Lula though. Lula, who’d figured out a guy was scamming them before he’d even opened his mouth that one time in Chinatown, who always knew when something had made Jack upset, who had a lot more knowledge in her than she let on. Henley grinned and ruffled her hair, and Lula smiled.

“Alright,” she said, “that’s good enough for me. Let’s talk to her.”

Lula nodded excitedly, then frowned. “Wait,” she asked, “how are you going to make this subtle?”

Henley winked. “I’ve got an idea.”

* * *

“ _Cette chemise ressemble beaucoup, Alma, ne pas écouter Danny._ ”

Alma looked up from her argument with Danny and smiled. Henley and Lula were back, Henley smiling wide with her hands in her jacket pockets.

“ _I forgot you spoke French,_ ” Alma replied in her native language. “ _Where did you learn it?_ ”

“ _I think it’s a rich parent thing to force your kids to learn French or something,_ ” Henley said with a shrug. “ _Eh, whatever. I mostly use it to confuse Dylan and Danny anyway._ ”

“Henley, I swear to god, stop talking about me in French,” Danny said, a little peeved. “I don’t talk about you in Hebrew.”

“Yes you do,” Lula interrupted, crossing her arms.

“I do not.”

“Do too.”

“I know like three words in Hebrew, Lula. _Three_. Shut up.”

“Doesn’t stop you from using them!”

“Oh my god,” Henley said, glaring at the two of them, “both of you, leave. Right now. Go.”

Danny and Lula shouted protests, but Henley gave them her most withering glare and the two of them retreated dejectedly. Lula grabbed Daniel’s wrist and pulled him in the direction of the kid’s section, leaving Henley and Alma alone.

Alma chuckled. “Are they always like that?”

“You have no idea,” Henley grumbled. Then she sighed and rolled her eyes, heading deeper into the women’s clothing section. “Come on, Alma, I found something I think you might like!”

Alma followed Henley through the department, and the two of them ended up finding a decent amount of clothes within half an hour. When they started checking out, Alma asked Henley where the Danny and Lula were.

“Probably waiting for us at the van,” she said, picking up one of the bags. “Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Really? About what?” Alma grabbed the other bag and followed Henley to the exit, giving the girl a glance. She was chewing her lip, staring at the ground. Alma wondered what she was thinking.

“Um…” Henley took a breath and fell in step with Alma, still not looking her in the eyes. “Do uh… do you like us? Like, you know. Spending time with us and everything.”

Henley flicked her eyes up for a brief second, and Alma raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Where did that come from?” she asked.

“I dunno,” Henley shrugged. “I just, I don’t know. We’re kind of a mess and everything and, I mean you’ve spent a few days with us already and I was just kind of worried, what with you technically being an agent and our bodyguard and everything, and…”

“Henley.” Alma gave her a warm smile and wrapped her arm around her shoulder, and Henley smiled back. “Trust me, I love spending time with all of you.”

“Do you _really?_ I mean, really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“No, I wouldn’t do that.” Alma squeezed Henley’s shoulder. “Come on, if I didn’t like being in the van with you guys all the time, I’d be a lot grumpier. Trust me.”

“But we’re a _mess_ , Alma.”

“All families are a mess! Didn’t you hear me tell Dylan about my family that first day? Mine was just as bad as yours, if not worse, and we had an apartment.”

Henley gave her a weird look. “What?” Alma asked.

“You think we’re a family?” she asked.

“You don’t?” she replied.

Henley turned away, chewing her lip again. “I mean… Kind of,” she said. “We call ourselves a family all the time on stage and everything, it’s just… it’s weird.” She paused, smiling. “Yeah, I guess we kind of are, huh? Like, an actual one. Funny.” Then Henley laughed. “Oh god, wait, what’s Merritt?”

“In the family?” Alma realized she had no idea and laughed too. “Oh, I don’t know! Older brother, I guess?”

“More like weird, drunk uncle,” Henley said, grinning. Alma gave her a look.

“Drunk?” she asked.

“Yeah! Oh my god, he used to be _so drunk_ all the time,” Henley said, laughing again. “Back when Dylan brought us all together, Merritt literally would just drink constantly. He uh, kind of had issues. It’s kind of why Dylan didn’t let him drive the van? But he’s been sober for like, a few months now, we’re all very proud of him. He’s still weird though, he can just be the weird uncle I guess.”

“Weird uncle seems fitting,” Alma said, filing the information about Merritt away for later. She wondered what had happened to him to make him so miserable before, but at least he was happy now. They all seemed to be.

“Oh wait, that makes Dylan our dad,” Henley said suddenly. “Oh my god, he’s the dad. Oh my god.”

“What?” Alma said, smiling at Henley’s tone. “Henley, come on. He’s a great dad!”

“You think so?” Henley asked in disbelief. “I mean, he’s _Dylan_.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not an excellent person to take care of all of you.” Henley gave her another look, still doubtful, and Alma sighed. “Oh come on. It’s obvious he cares about all of you.”

Henley shrugged. “Okay, yeah.”

“He cares about you a lot more than any of you realize. Even more than he realizes, to be perfectly honest.” Alma smiled. “And he’s nice. And smart, and he understands all of you and you understand him. He’d never let anyone hurt you if he could help it. He’s a good person, Henley.”

Henley smiled up at her, a softness in her eyes. “You think he’s a good person?” she asked.

“I think he’s a much better person than he himself thinks he is,” Alma said with a nod. She pushed some hair behind her ear, twirling the end of the strand on her finger. “And I think he’s one of the bravest and most loyal men I’ve ever met. Normal people don’t just uproot their lives to make sure some kids they’ve never met stay safe. And they certainly don’t care about them more than they care about themselves.”

Alma smiled, remembering Dylan’s concern for Henley when she was upset, his hand finding Alma’s gratefully when she did for her what he couldn’t. She remembered his thumb brushing the back of her hand, thanking her without speaking, smiling with heavy eyes – sad and happy, all at once. Bittersweet. He didn’t even realize how much he actually cared.

She realized Henley was staring at her and blinked, pushing the thoughts away. “What?” she asked.

Henley just smiled and shook her head, eyes bright and happy. “Nothing,” she said. “Just… I didn’t realize you were so good at figuring people out.”

Alma chuckled. “Not as good as Merritt, I’m afraid, but I am rather good if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.”

Henley playfully shoved Alma and Alma bumped her back with her shoulder, the two of them laughing as they neared the van.

“Let’s speak in French and annoy everyone,” Henley whispered, giving her an evil grin.

Alma considered it and nodded. “Sounds like a plan,” she said. “Are we the only two who know French?”

“Yep.” Her grin grew wider. “You know, Dylan knows like ten languages, but he doesn’t know French.”

“He _doesn’t?_ ” Alma feigned being offended and said in French, “ _I take back everything I just said. He’s disgraceful._ ”

Henley snorted, and Dylan and Lula, who were the only two still waiting outside the van, turned around and gave them a weird look. “Hey guys,” he said, “what’s up?”

“ _Alma just called you disgraceful_ ,” Henley said in French, grinning like an evil genius. Dylan gave her a look.

“Really?” he said.

“ _Honestly, Dylan, not knowing French is a crime against humanity,_ ” Alma said with a smirk. “ _You’ve brought dishonor upon your whole family._ ”

“Alma, come on, not you too!” Dylan rolled his eyes and glared at the redhead. “Henley!”

She just cackled. “ _What Dylan, upset you can’t understand us?_ ”

“Alright, fine, let’s do this. Two can play this game.” He turned to Lula and said something in Chinese – how did he know _Chinese_ and not know _French?_ – and Lula grinned wide and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hey!” Alma said, staring at Dylan. He just shrugged and smirked back. Infuriating.

“Sorry,” he said, leaning against the door, “the front seats are for non-French speakers only.”

“Wow, Dylan, that’s racist,” Henley said in English.

“No, it’s not racist. It’s language-ist. Get in the back.”

Henley rolled her eyes, but she and Alma just laughed and walked towards the back doors, chatting in French. At a pause, she noticed Henley wink at Lula and Lula grin wide and glance between her and Henley excitedly before sticking her head back in the window. Then Henley continued talking in French as if nothing had happened, the two of them climbing into the van.

What was that all about?

* * *

From what Alma could glean in the next hour, Dylan Rhodes could speak just about every single language on the planet except French. He had a conversation with Lula in Mandarin, then turned around and scolded Jack in Spanish for trying to pick Merritt’s pocket again. Then he spoke to Merritt in what sounded like Russian, earning odd looks from both Merritt and Alma.

“Merritt’s old nanny used to speak Russian,” Henley clarified in English.

“Not that I remember like any of the language,” Merritt responded, lounging on his beach chair. Henley and Alma were sitting on the couch to his right. “She left when I was like nine.”

“You remember it when you’re drunk,” Lula piped up.

“Shut it, pipsqueak!”

Alma laughed, actually pretty comfortable on the makeshift couch she and Henley were sitting on. “ _How does everyone know so many languages?_ ” she asked Henley.

“ _Well, Jack is half Latino, Lula is half Chinese, and Danny had to learn Hebrew because he’s Jewish_.”

“ _Batzal!_ ” Danny yelled, sitting in the chair behind Dylan shuffling cards. Alma had no idea what he said, but she doubted it was actually a curse word.

“ _This is fun,_ ” Alma said, smiling at Henley. “ _I don’t think Dylan has quite lost his cool yet, though._ ”

Henley nodded, thinking, and then a wide grin spread across her face, another evil little glint in her eye.

“ _Watch this_ ,” Henley whispered in French, smirking. She turned away from Alma and glanced around the van, softly but clearly starting to sing:

“The wheels on the bus go–”

“NO!”

Alma jumped and started laughing hysterically as the entire van save the two of them went _insane_. Dylan nearly drove the car into a barrier; Danny looked like he was going to have a heart attack; Merritt was staring at Henley like she’d just summoned Satan himself; Jack sat up too fast in Lula’s bunk and slammed his head against the ceiling, shouting out in pain and falling back onto the bed; Lula shrieked and a hamster (where did _that_ come from?) fell out of her sleeve.

“Henley, no!” Dylan yelled, correcting the car quickly and glaring back at Henley and Alma. “Oh my god! What did I tell you?”

“Seriously, man?” Jack asked, rubbing his forehead, but when he saw their faces he started laughing with Alma and Henley. Eventually, so did the rest of the van – except Lula, who was busy trying to scoop up her hamster.

“You scared Veronica,” she mumbled, smiling as she lifted the hamster up and pet it a few times. Dylan just shook his head and turned back to the road.

“Henley, really?” he asked, trying and failing not to smile.

“What?” Henley asked, grinning from ear to ear. “Alma told me to do it!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Alma asked, playfully pushing Henley. “What _was_ that?”

“Uh, that’s a long story,” Daniel said, laughing a little. “And by long story, I mean one day Dylan didn’t buy Henley a lock picking set and she wouldn’t stop singing that song until he turned around and went back.”

“And it _worked_ ,” Henley added.

“Yeah, only because the rest of the van was begging me to stop,” Dylan said, rolling his eyes. “The set wasn’t even a good set! It was a cheap set! Jack could pick a lock with bobby pins better than any of the tools in there.”

“That song?” Alma gave Henley a look. “What song?”

“The wheels on the bus–”

“Nope, nuh uh, you’re not even allowed to say it,” Merritt threatened. “Its presence is forbidden in this vehicle. Dylan, seriously, can’t I just hypnotize her to forget it?”

“ _No_ , Merritt.”

“The wheels on the bus?” Alma asked, still grinning.

“Oh yeah,” Henley said, grinning. “It’s the most annoying song ever, it’s great. Did you know it has like, at _least_ twelve verses?”

“Yeah, and she used _every single one_ ,” Jack said, still rubbing his head.

“She even started making ones up!” Lula yelled, sticking her hamster back in her pocket. “She was like ‘The Merritt on the bus says, “let me off!”’ and stuff like that! It was ridiculous.”

Henley cackled. “Oh yeah, that was awesome,” she said. “My personal favorite was, ‘the Dylan on the bus is gonna kill us all, gonna kill us all–‘”

“Henley!” Dylan shouted, but Alma and everyone else were already laughing. Dylan shook his head and glanced back at Alma, still trying not to smile. Alma had too contagious of a laugh.

“Alma, seriously, stop laughing,” he said.

She shook her head. “Nope!”

“Henley, come on, don’t encourage this!”

“Too late!” Henley shouted.

“Oh my god.” He rolled his eyes and watched Alma in his rearview mirror. “Oh my god, stop it, I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Alma said without thinking.

Dylan tried to come up with a witty comeback, but he spluttered to a halt, staring at Alma in the mirror. She was grinning and happy, her eyes bright and hair all pulled back in a bun, sitting next to Henley on the couch with a pillow in her lap and looking… adorable. He shook his head and turned back to the road.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, smiling despite himself.

“Shut up?” Henley asked, raising an eyebrow. Jack and Lula cackled.

“Yes, shut up! Anyone else says another word about the goddamn wheels on the bus song, and I swear to god, I’ll pull this thing over and throw all of you out, understand?”

The kids and Alma all burst into laughter behind him, and Dylan, once again, wondered what on earth he’d done to deserve this.


	17. The Fool and The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this entire chapter is dylan/alma trash. you have been warned.

About an hour later, the Horsemen had all calmed down enough for the van to go back to a dull roar rather than a loud one, Dylan still driving them all down I-40 to Los Angeles. Lula had crawled out of the front seat and was trying to teach Alma a rope trick, which was much easier for her than cards. She figured out one trick five minutes after Lula showed it to her, which made her rather proud.

“See?” Lula said with a grin. “You’re a natural.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Alma said.

“It took me two days to figure this one out! Honestly Alma, you’re really good.”

She shrugged, but she couldn’t help smiling again. Magic was still so much fun, even after all these years, and she was happy she was picking it up as easily as she was. Cards were still difficult, of course, but she’d tried practicing. She’d almost gotten down the one Jack tried to show her in the Laundromat.

“Thank you, Lula,” she said with a smile. “Here’s your rope back.”

Lula nodded and slipped the rope back into her jacket. “I’d let you keep it, but we only have so much,” she said. “Apparently, it’s fine if we buy ten thousand decks of cards, but buying a decent amount of rope? Which, by the way, is basically essential in survival situations? Totally out of the question.”

“Lula, you stole a hamster this morning,” Dylan said up front.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Lula left the couch to go show Dylan her hamster again – it was a lovely hamster that she’d “found” outside a pet shop while Henley and Alma were shopping and named Veronica – leaving Alma alone on the couch. Jack, Merritt, and Henley were busy playing a game of ERS on the floor, and Danny…

Actually, Danny had just sat down next to Alma, staring at his shoes. Alma spared him a glance.

“Hey Alma, uh…” He twisted his hands together, one of his legs bouncing up and down. “This might be a weird question, but, well, can I look at your Eye book? Just for a little bit.”

She smiled, watching him continue to bounce his leg nervously. “Of course you can, Danny,” she said. “What for?”

“Just interested,” he said with a shrug. The bouncing lessened, and Alma wondered how Daniel Atlas could speak so fast. “Figured I should ask first since it’s technically your book and all. I just want to know more about the Eye and everything.”

He said it nonchalantly, but Alma could tell there was another reason, one he didn’t want to share. But if he didn’t want to tell her, Alma figured she shouldn’t push. She nodded and got up off the couch, finding her bag and pulling out the book to bring back to Danny.

“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “You should probably ignore some of my notes, they’re a little… immature?”

The edge of his mouth quirked up, almost a smile. “I understand, don’t worry,” he said. “Thanks, Alma.”

She nodded and drifted away from the couch, heading towards the card game to learn what the hell ERS actually was and why everyone was yelling about it. Danny stayed on the couch, the book splayed open in his lap, his eyes scanning every page at lightning speed.

Alma wondered what it was he was trying to find.

* * *

Dylan stopped for gas around 1 pm, still in Oklahoma, and let everyone out with granola bars and slim jims to stretch their legs. They all headed off, leaving him alone with the van – again – so once he filled up he drove the van into the Burger King parking lot next to the gas station. He got out, stretched a little, shook out his arms and legs to relieve the tension. _Still not used to driving for this long_ , he thought, walking towards the back of the van. _Sooner or later, all this is going to catch up with me._

He opened up the back doors and climbed inside, grabbing some beef jerky and a lukewarm juice box out of the iceless cooler. “Living like a king, Dylan,” he said to himself, popping some jerky into his mouth. At least it wasn’t a slim jim though; Dylan hated slim jims.

As he walked back to the open doors, he caught sight of something – the Eye book, lying shut on one of the couch cushions. He vaguely remembered Alma pulling it out of her bag earlier and giving it to Danny. Why was Danny suddenly so interested in researching the Eye?

Dylan figured he should just let the book be, but he kept staring at it, juice and jerky in his hands. The gold eye felt like it was following him.

 _It’s just a damn book, Dylan, calm down_ , he thought. _The driving is getting to you._  

Maybe it was, or maybe Dylan’s impulse control was just slowly starting to deteriorate. Either way, against his better judgment, Dylan scooped up the book again and took it to the back of the van with him, sitting down on the edge and placing it in his lap.

“Last time you did this turned out to be a bad idea,” he muttered to himself, putting his lunch on a box next to him. But he ignored his own advice and opened the book anyway, knowing what he was looking for.

_Lionel Shrike._

The name was still there, black and blocky against the page. Dylan wondered why he’d thought it wouldn’t be.

He sighed, trying to keep his emotions in check, and began flipping through the book again, occasionally stopping to take a sip out of his juice box or eat some jerky. This time, he focused more on the actual text rather than his father’s scribbles in the margins, reading up on the Eye from a book that was probably outdated. Surprisingly, a lot of the stuff in here was accurate, although some obvious things had changed with time. Like messenger pigeons – the Eye didn’t use pigeons to track movements anymore. They used traffic cameras and video feeds like everyone else. One of the magicians, the one before his father, had written that down next to the passage.

“How old _is_ this thing?” Dylan asked himself, flipping through and trying to find a date. There wasn’t one, so he flipped to the front instead and read the first magician’s name. He recognized it a little, remembering seeing it somewhere on a picture frame, holding an antique photo of a smiling Chinese man with his fingers stuck in a Chinese finger trap.

 _Li Wu Chang_. Dylan smiled – that was Bu Bu’s grandfather, her own grandson’s namesake. He’d been responsible for moving the Eye headquarters to the Macao shop and for keeping the organization going in China. It amazed Dylan that this book, a book owned by someone so important and influential in the organization he’d dedicated his life to, had found its way to him.

“Reading again?” someone asked, and Dylan immediately shut the book, feeling guilty. He knew that voice without even looking up.

_Last time you did this turned out to be a bad idea._

“Alma,” he said, looking up, but he a little relieved when he saw her smiling. _Not mad. Good_. “Hi. I uh, I thought you were with the kids.”

“I was.” She walked over to the van and sat down on the back edge, next to Dylan. He noticed she was shivering a little – it was the middle of March, why wasn’t she wearing a jacket?

“Where’s your jacket?” he asked, concerned. She shrugged.

“Lula forgot hers in the van, so I let her have mine,” she said. “I didn’t actually think it was that cold until a few minutes later, so the kids told me to come back–”

“Here,” Dylan interrupted, slipping off his hoodie. He handed it to her, ignoring the cold – at least he was wearing flannel, not cotton. He’d be fine.

Alma gave him a curious look, one side of her mouth pulling up into a smile, and took the hoodie. She slipped it on – it was dark blue and fairly warm, both from thickness and from Dylan wearing it all day. The sleeves were so long they covered up her hands, but it was better than nothing.

Much better than nothing, actually. Not that she was going to say that.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, wrapping the hoodie around herself. Dylan shrugged and smirked.

“Meh,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

Alma shook her head. “Thank you, Dylan.”

“No problem.”

They fell silent and stared out into the parking lot, Dylan tracing the cover of the Eye book with his finger. His heart was racing, the air between the two of them charged with electricity. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like to Dylan. It was distracting. But it was nice too, nice in the way it made him feel like a middle schooler with a crush.

He hadn’t wanted to admit to himself that’s what this was, but he could only deny it for so long.

What was wrong with him?

Alma sighed and glanced towards the Eye book. “What were you reading about?” she asked, gaze flicking up to his eyes. He stopped tracing the Eye symbol and smiled.

“Nothing specific, really,” he said, “just little things here and there. Tidbits about the Eye.”

“Really?” She grinned. “I thought you knew everything about the Eye.”

“I know _some_ things, not everything.” He shook his head, unable to keep from smiling with Alma sitting so close. “I’m not the damn commander and chief of the whole thing, you know.”

Alma laughed, and part of Dylan wished she wouldn’t – it was hard not to laugh with her when she did. He glanced at her, his hoodie wrapped around tight, the sleeves too big and her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her legs swung slightly, just barely touching the ground, the sun hitting her face in a way that made her face shine. Or maybe… maybe that was just Dylan.

Her owlish blue-gray eyes locked onto his, a hint of laughter still on her face.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, looking away. _Real subtle, Dylan,_ he thought to himself. _Really. For a master magician, this is outright pathetic._

But Alma didn’t seem to look to deeply into it, because a second later she changed the subject.

“Here, I want to show you something,” she said, slipping the book out of Dylan’s lap and placing it behind them. She pulled a deck of cards out from her pocket and shuffled them, grinning like a five-year-old.

“What are you doing?” Dylan asked, grinning right back.

“I’m going to show you a trick.”

“Oh, you’re going to show _me_ a trick? The master magician in the super secret magician cult?”

She nudged him playfully and kept shuffling the cards, and Dylan chuckled. “Who taught it to you?” he asked.

“Jack,” she replied, holding out the fanned deck. “Pick a card.”

He rolled his eyes and did so – six of clubs – then slipped it back into the deck. Alma smiled and shuffled the deck, her nimble fingers easily manipulating the cards, and he couldn’t help but admire them. They were magician’s hands.

“I’ve noticed Jack and Lula keep teaching you tricks,” he said, trying to avoid an awkward silence.

“Mhmm.” Alma was focused on the deck. Dylan sighed and leaned back.

“I thought you weren’t patient enough to be a magician,” he said.

“I’m more patient now as an adult, Dylan,” she replied, holding up a card. “Is this your card?”

Six of clubs. He nodded, and a huge grin spread across her face – it was enough to make him forget the cold for a minute.

“So cool,” she said, shuffling the deck again. Dylan had an idea.

“Hey,” he said, “can I show you a trick?”

Alma gave him a look, but she eventually shrugged and held out the deck. He took it from her, fingers brushing across her palm and sending his nerves tingling, and Alma lifted up her legs to sit cross-legged next to him, watching as he shuffled the deck with ease.

“Okay,” he said, watching her face as he flipped and spun the cards without even looking at them. She shook her head, knowing exactly what he was doing – showing off. “I want you to name a card. Any card.”

She smirked. “Joker,” she said.

“Ha, ha.” He smirked back and continued to shuffle, exaggerating his over-the-top flourishes and fancy tricks. “Be serious.”

Alma rolled her eyes. “Seven of spades,” she said.

He nodded and collected the deck in one hand, magically waving his hand over it before holding it out to Alma and asking her to tap on the deck twice. She rolled her eyes again and did as he asked. Then he shuffled the deck again and fanned it up for her to see.

“Do you see your card here?” he asked.

She searched, her eyes narrowed. “No.”

He smirked and put the deck down, trying to sound disappointed. “Huh, that’s weird,” he said. “It usually works. You sure you aren’t hiding it?”

“Very funny, Dylan,” Alma said. He just smiled and reached up behind her ear, flicking his wrist and pulling a card out of her hair. When he held it up, she laughed and shook her head.

He checked – yep, seven of spades. Still had it.

“Impressed?” he asked.

“What, with your show off card tricks? Please.” Alma smirked and turned away, one leg dangling off the edge of the van. “You’d think a member of the Eye would know how to do more than that.”

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize you had such high standards.”

“Hm.” She laughed a little, and Dylan’s heart skipped a beat in spite of himself. _Stupid, stupid. Stop it_. “Can you teach it to me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The trick?”

“Yes.”

He huffed and leaned back again, slipping her deck of cards back into his hand. “I don’t know,” he said with a smirk, “it’s a pretty hard trick. It takes years of training, lots of patience and discipline. You have to meditate in a cave for five years and learn the meaning of life before I teach you how to do what I just did.”

“Are you teaching me a magic trick or training me to become a Kung Fu master, Dylan?”

He snorted at that – jeez, that had sounded like a Kung Fu movie huh? Alma laughed with him, nudging his shoulder with hers, and Dylan brought the deck of cards to his lap, shuffling them out of habit.

His face felt hot. Was it hot here? _No, of course not you idiot, it’s the middle of March and you’re sitting outside. You don’t even have a jacket on._

God damn it, he had to get ahold of himself.

“Seriously though,” Alma said, a little closer than she’d been a minute before. “Can you teach me? I just want to learn how to shuffle like that.”

“The shuffling? That’s it?” Dylan gave her a cheeky grin. “What, don’t have the guts to try summoning a card out of thin air quite yet?”

“Shut up!” she laughed, smacking him lightly on the arm. He smiled down at the cards in his hands, still shuffling, still distracting himself.

“I’ve always been bad at shuffling,” Alma admitted. He realized she was watching his hands too, observing, trying to learn. She was a lot cleverer than he gave her credit for, a lot smarter and wiser than he’d expected. And she knew how to handle a deck of cards. She’d picked up that trick from Jack faster than he would’ve thought.

He stopped shuffling and met her eyes, shrugging.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll teach you how to shuffle.”

She grinned. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. By the time the kids get back, I’ll have you screwing around with a deck of cards like a total pro. Atlas will be pissed out of his mind.”

Alma laughed and shook her head, taking her deck out of Dylan’s hands. For a second, he thought she held her hand in his a little longer than she should’ve, brushed her thumb against his knuckle just slightly, but she pulled away and he shook his head, digging around in his own pockets for another deck.

 _Wishful thinking_ , he thought.

Alma gave him a small smile, eyes bright and confident, and started shuffling.

* * *

Lula returned to the van riding piggyback on Merritt, a butterscotch-flavored Dum-Dum in her mouth, and grinned when she saw Dylan and Alma laughing and doing card tricks. The rest of the kids were behind them, Jack sucking on another Dum-Dum and Henley arguing with Danny about the advantages of belt packs. The two adults looked up and smiled, Dylan slipping his deck back into his pocket. Alma was wearing his hoodie.

 _Nice job, Lula_ , she thought, slipping off Merritt’s back with Alma’s jacket still wrapped around her. _Quick thinking skills for the win._

“Hey guys!” Dylan said, standing up. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” Henley said, winking at Lula. Lula winked back, and Jack nudged her foot. Merritt just grinned.

“Lula, don’t forget your jacket next time,” Dylan said with a smile, walking around to the driver’s seat. Lula nodded very seriously.

“I won’t!” she said.

They all piled into the van, Dylan starting it and easing them back out onto the highway. Lula returned Alma’s jacket, and Alma tried to give back Dylan’s hoodie, but he shook his head.

“You keep it for now,” he said, “it’s easier to lounge around in than that big trench coat of yours anyway.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but after contemplating for a moment she gave in and slipped the hoodie back on. Lula and Henley shared a glance so full of _oh my god are you seeing this they’re so in love_ that Lula wanted to explode. She was so, _so_ very glad she’d left her jacket in the van.

Which reminded her – she pulled Veronica out of her pocket and pet her, pulling out a bag of hamster food and a plastic ball from the bag Merritt had been carrying earlier. She stuck Veronica inside the ball and dumped a few food pellets in, watching her nibble at the snacks contentedly.

“Oh good,” Dylan said, watching her with the hamster. “You got it a ball.”

“Yep,” Lula replied.

“Please tell me you didn’t steal it.”

“Me? Steal something? Dylan, that’s preposterous.” When he gave her a look, she just grinned. “Yeah, I bought it. Don’t worry.”

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the road, and Lula closed Veronica in her ball and let her roll around the van. The hamster had to be happy if Lula wanted to use her in magic tricks, after all. Staying in someone’s sleeve all day was never good for an animal.

“Learn any new tricks?” Jack asked, sliding up next to Alma. Lula was already there, squatting on a box while Alma sat in the chair behind Henley in the passenger seat. Veronica rolled about on the floor, squeaking.

“Yes, actually,” Alma said, grinning giddily. “I learned how to shuffle!”

She demonstrated a few for Lula and Jack, tricky shuffles that took a lot of skill and patience to learn that Dylan had obviously just taught her. It was amazing – she was only a little clumsy, and she had the basic moves down pat. Lula giggled and stared up at Alma, almost as giddy as she was.

“That’s amazing, Alma!” she said. “Seriously, if you keep at this, you could be a really great magician!”

Alma looked happy enough to burst, grinning at Jack and Lula and continuing to shuffle her cards. In the front seat, Lula could just barely see Dylan blushing, smiling like a fool that’d fallen in love with the sun.


	18. Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so someone (cough Reidluver) asked what my secret to updating so fast is. The secret my friends – are you ready for this – is that I have no life.
> 
> get ready for angst

It was three am when Dylan awoke to the sound of someone yelling, then slamming their forehead against the roof of the van, then falling back on their bunk with a shout, hiccupping and trying not to cry.

He knew exactly who it was without even opening his eyes, and he knew what he needed to do next. Slowly, Dylan forced himself to get up, Lula’s muffled sobs echoing in the van. Merritt, Henley, and Danny were all still snoring, but Jack was starting to shift too, like he could feel Lula’s pain and stress even when he was asleep. If they didn’t look so different and had never met each other before a year ago, Dylan could’ve sworn they were twins. Conjoined at the hip, almost sharing a mind, knowing what the other was going to do or say before they even thought of it.

As Dylan crawled off his seat and padded towards the back of the van, he saw Alma shift a little too, her eyes just barely cracking open. He wondered, briefly, if he wanted her to see this, but then he realized it didn’t matter. She was awake already, and she was going to anyway.

Besides, it was Alma. Of all the other people in the van to be awake at a time like this, Dylan would’ve wanted it to be her.

“Lula?” he whispered, keeping his voice gentle. He heard Lula sniff, the dark form of her under the blanket trembling. “Hey, it’s me. It was just a nightmare. You okay?”

He saw her shake her head, face still buried in her pillow, and Dylan reached up and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You want to come down?”

She nodded, slowly inching her way off the bunk towards the makeshift ladder near the side door. Lula dragged her pillow and blanket off the bed with her; that alone told Dylan how bad the dream had been. Usually, she just crawled out and gave him a hug, one that usually lasted a full two or three minutes. If she was pulling down her blanket and pillow too, that meant something bad had happened in her dream, bad enough to really freak her out. Dylan helped her down and brought her over to the central part of the van, shoving a few boxes out of the way to make an empty space on the floor.

They sat down together, Lula still wrapped up in her blanket and pressed against his side, sniffing and shaking. Dylan wrapped his arms around her and hugged, pressing her against him like doing so could take all her sadness away.

If he could do that, take away her pain and keep it in himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t, so hugs were all he could give her.

Jack appeared next to them, silent as a mouse and easily slipping in and out of the dark. He sat down across from them, grabbing the outline of Lula’s hand under her blanket and squeezing. They didn’t say a word.

Eventually, Lula shifted against Dylan and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her eyes focused on something. She sniffed again.

“Hi Alma,” she said, her voice weak.

Alma blinked, sad and concerned and very, very awake, sitting up in her seat and watching Dylan hold Lula in silence. Dylan watched Alma in return, wondering how she would react – if she even could react. Jack tensed in front of them, but Lula seemed relaxed. Or, well, as relaxed as she could be. She was even smiling a little, smiling at Alma with her big green eyes and ragged black hair and the tear streaks down her face.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Lula rasped quietly.

“It’s okay, Lula,” she said, smiling back sadly. Alma shifted a little so she could be closer, her eyes meeting Dylan’s. _Is she okay?_ They seemed to ask. _Is it okay if I do this? Am I allowed to be a part of this?_

Dylan glanced down at Lula, who didn’t seem to mind Alma seeing her like this. If anything, it was like she wanted it, like having Alma there helped her too.

He met her eyes again and nodded. _Yes, it’s okay._

Alma shifted again and slipped off the chair, sitting on the ground next to Jack. He slowly relaxed and leaned into her, and Alma wrapped her arm around him.

Dylan listened to the crickets outside the van until Lula spoke again.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “About waking you all up.”

“It’s okay,” Dylan said, rubbing her arm gently. “It’s not your fault. You want to talk about it?”

“Probably should since…” She stopped, her voice catching in her throat. Lula swallowed and sucked in some air before continuing. “Since Alma’s here and all.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Alma whispered immediately. But Lula shook her head.

“I-I want to,” she said. “I mean, you gotta find out sooner or later right? We’re all kinda–” Another hiccup. “We’re all kinda screwed up here, you know.”

Dylan hugged Lula close again, his heart thumping in his chest as he watched Alma. Lula had a point – she would figure it out sooner or later, and it was better to find out now. But a small part of him was worried what Alma would think, how she would react.

 _It’s Alma, Dylan_ , he thought. _She’s kind and thoughtful and understands. Don’t worry._

He didn’t know why he was worrying anyway. Maybe he just didn’t want Lula to risk all this and end up getting hurt.

“It’s um… usually th-they aren’t this bad,” Lula stuttered, still trying to smile. The rest of them were silent, listening. “The dreams. It’s usually just… noises, and shapes and stuff. Easy to get over that stuff. But um… every once in a while it’s…”

She sucked in another shaky breath and locked eyes with Jack, and Jack drew his mouth into a thin line and nodded, understanding without words. Lula leaned back into Dylan and Jack drew a shaky breath.

“Her uh, her parents…” Jack began, mostly telling the story to Alma. “Lula lived in a circus, before Dylan got her. Her mom wasn’t exactly sane, and, when she was eight… well–”

“My mom stabbed my dad in the neck,” Lula said, staring at the ground. “In front of me.”

Alma’s eyes were wide as saucers, scared and worried all at once. It was the same way Dylan had felt when he learned about Lula’s nightmares. Like listening to a horror story, straight out of a little girl’s mouth.

“Usually my bad dreams aren’t about that,” she said, still staring at the floor, pressed into Dylan’s side. “Th-they’re usually about Igor – he was, he was this jerk that took me in and taught me magic, really mean guy, but… I mean sometimes they…” She sucked in some air, trembling like a leaf. “I-it’s fun, really. They just. Sometimes, the dream pops up, and, and it’s so _vivid_ and _real_ a-and, and… and my mom she…”

Dylan could feel tears soaking into his shirt where Lula’s face was pressed against his side. His leg was falling asleep, but he ignored it.

“She smiled at me?” Lula continued, like she was asking a question “S-she smiled after she did it, looked me right in the eyes and just… grinned, and I thought I was gonna be next b-but… I wasn’t. And… and it’s just… I’m…”

Her voice trailed off and Dylan hugged her close, wishing he could have five minutes in a dark alley with all the people who had hurt Lula. All the people who had hurt any of these kids. They didn’t deserve this, any of this. How could people be so cruel to kids who’d done nothing wrong?

 _You know_ , he thought. _You know better than anyone_.

Lula sniffed, hiccupping again, and glared at the ground. “It sucks,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Alma nodded, not sure what to say.

“It just _sucks,_ I don’t…” A sob broke out of Lula’s throat, and she buried her face in Dylan’s shirt. “I don’t, I-I don’t want to _be_ like this I don’t wanna wake up in the middle of the night screaming I don’t I don’t I don’t–”

“Lula,” Dylan said softly. His heart felt like it was being torn apart. “Lula, this doesn’t make you who you are, you know that.”

“I _know_ , I know I know, I-I really really do but…” She sobbed again. “I just…”

“Shh.” Dylan lifted her into his lap, holding her as close as he could and wishing he could make everything go away. “It’s okay, Lula, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here. It’s okay.”

Jack leaned further into Alma, his eyes scared and helpless and watching Lula with more sadness than any twelve-year-old should know. Alma was still silent, hugging Jack and wishing she knew what to say, and Dylan wished he could tell her. But he didn’t even know himself.

How was he supposed to help these kids when he was just as screwed up as they were?

How was anyone?

“Alma?” Lula said quietly, lifting her face to find Alma’s eyes. “Y-you aren’t going to, to see me different now, right?”

It wasn’t the question any of them had expected, but Alma shook her head, understanding instantly. “Why would you think that?” she asked.

Lula just shrugged, casting her eyes downward, and Alma sighed.

“Lula,” she whispered, leaning forward. “Everyone has nightmares. Everyone has things they wish they could forget. But none of those change who we are. And they won’t – not unless we let them. You won’t let this change you, and I won’t let this change how I see you. None of us will.”

Lula continued to stare at the ground, and for a moment Alma was afraid she’d said something wrong. “Lula,” she said, less sure of herself, “I–”

But before she could say another word, the girl jumped out of Dylan’s arms and crashed into Alma, hugging her tight around the chest and showing no signs of letting go. Jack jerked back, surprised, and Alma was too stunned to react, but after a moment, she wrapped her arms around Lula and hugged back as tight as she could.

 _There’s a reason they don’t want to go back, you know_.

If she could stop anything bad from ever happening to these kids, she would. Alma knew that now.

Slowly, Lula lifted her head, eyes shining with tears but still smiling. “Thanks, Alma,” she said softly. “You’re really good at that.”

“At what?” she asked.

She smiled. “Making people feel happy again.”

Alma stared at Lula, the words hitting right at her core with such force it took her breath away, and she looked up at Dylan not knowing what to say. He just smiled back.

 _She’s right, you know,_ he seemed to say.

Maybe she was.

Lula pulled away and grinned at Jack, who was still sitting next to Alma not saying a word. “You,” Lula said, “are feeling left out right now. I haven’t hugged you yet.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a crime,” Jack muttered, smiling as Lula wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. Dylan and Alma smiled too – Lula was okay now. At least, as okay as she was ever going to be.

“Sorry about this, Alma,” Lula said, smiling up at her. “We’re all kinda messed up. It’s one of those things that just happens sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Alma replied, rubbing Lula’s head. “I understand.”

“Mine isn’t even the worst,” Lula said, nudging Jack. “His is the worst.”

“Yeah, and if mine is worse than Lula’s you know it’s bad,” Jack muttered, his smile faltering a little. But he shrugged before someone could say anything. “Besides, it’s better now. We’ve got Dylan.”

“I don’t know, Jack, is that better or worse?” Lula said, grinning mischievously. Dylan made an offended sound, and the two of them laughed and crawled over to give him hugs too.

“Kidding,” Lula said, and Dylan just shook his head and laughed.

“You little rascals,” he muttered, glancing up at Alma. She was smiling. “Honestly, what am I going to do with you?”

Jack and Lula laughed again, Alma with them, and soon all four of them were laughing quietly on the floor of the van, the other three Horsemen still snoring in the back as the moon rose in the nighttime sky.

* * *

Fifteen hundred miles away, at 2:16 am, Natalie Austin ended a call on her cell phone and tried to remember how to breathe. She’d stayed late in the office that day trying to plan out the Tressler issue, not realizing she’d completely lost track of time until her cell phone rang. But the call she’d just taken had left her wide-awake and restless; there was no way she was falling asleep now.

 _Who is this?_ She’d asked, exhausted and suspicious.

 _A concerned party,_ the voice on the other end said. _I have some information I think might be of interest to you._

Well, whoever had called her was certainly right about that. But whether or not she believed them was a different matter entirely.

“I need coffee,” she finally muttered, pushing herself up from her desk. Austin headed to the communal Keurig and popped in a cup of their strongest brew, sticking her mug under the spout and waiting. While she stood there, leaning against the counter, she pulled out her cell phone and found Fuller’s number.

 _He needs to hear this_ , she thought, listening to the dial tone. _Him especially_.

“Boss?” Fuller’s exhausted voice answered the phone after five rings – Austin felt bad about waking him up in the middle of the night, but this was important. “It’s like two am, what wrong?”

“I just got a call.”

He paused. “Are you still at the office?”

She didn’t answer, which was all the confirmation he needed. “You’re still at the office, aren’t you,” he said. The voice would’ve sounded more concerned if it weren’t so exasperated. “We told you to get some rest, boss, Jesus–”

“Listen,” she snapped. Coffee started pouring into her mug from the Keurig. “I just got a call straight to my cell phone from an anonymous tipper. He knew about our investigation into Tressler, and about Rhodes and the Horsemen.”

“What?” Fuller asked, now wide-awake.

“I asked him how he knew about it, and he just said he had his ways.”

“What was his tip?”

“That’s why I called. It’s about Rhodes.”

Fuller’s breath hitched on the other end; she’d gotten his attention. The Keurig had filled her mug up halfway with black coffee.

“What about Rhodes?” Fuller asked, uneasy.

Austin sighed. “You ever heard of the Eye, Fuller?”

The other end was silent, so she took that as a no. “I did some research,” she explained. “Supposedly, it’s a secret society of magicians that like to play Robin Hood. Steal from the corrupt wealthy and give back to the wronged. Expose misdeeds and stuff like that. Illegal, but never lethal. And since they’re magicians, they use magic to pull all this stuff off.”

“A Robin Hood magician cult.” Fuller didn’t sound too impressed. “Sounds fake.”

“That’s what I thought, but some people think it might still be around, lurking in the shadows like some kind of magic Illuminati bullshit. A few even claim to be victims.”

“What’s this got to do with Rhodes?”

“The caller suggested he might be in it.”

Austin could practically hear Fuller freeze on the other end of the line, his mind trying to process what’d she just said. The Keurig spluttered out the last drops of coffee into her mug, but she ignored it – she was waiting for Fuller’s response.

“That’s impossible,” he finally said.

“That’s what I thought too,” she replied, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “But Fuller… Remember why Tressler hates magicians? A group of them stole millions from him after his first supposed arms deal, way back in the eighties.”

“You think those magicians were in the Eye?”

“If you believe everything the caller told me, they are.”

Fuller paused. “So, if this guy is to be believed… Tressler’s grudge isn’t just against magicians, it’s against the Eye.”

“Exactly. According to the caller, he’s been kidnapping young magicians to try and thin out their possible recruiting pool, cutting them off at the feet or drawing them out where he could destroy them. And it’s been going on for so long that the Eye is desperate.”

“For new recruits? But what–” He stopped, suddenly understanding. “The Horsemen.”

Natalie nodded, forgetting Fuller couldn’t see her. “Why else would Rhodes quit a job at the FBI to go haul around some runaway kids?” she asked. “What’s he even doing running around in the magic business in the first place? He didn’t tell us a thing before he quit, just left one day and didn’t come back. Does that sound like Rhodes to you?”

“Boss.” Fuller sounded confused and lost, still trying to be rational. “Do you really think Rhodes, _Dylan Rhodes_ , is in a secret criminal magician’s cult? He’s an FBI agent for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m not saying I believe any of what I just heard, I’m just saying that as a possibility, it adds up. I don’t want to believe it any more than you.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense! If the Eye supposedly had Dylan quit his job as _an FBI agent_ to go pick up possible recruits, completely on a whim, wouldn’t they have gotten them to safety by now? Traveling around in a van with their name painted on the side isn’t exactly inconspicuous. It’s been a year, boss. If the Eye even exists, it wouldn’t make them wait this long.”

Austin fell silent, mulling the information over. Fuller was right – they weren’t even sure the Eye _existed_ , let alone that Rhodes was part of it. Even if it was the perfect explanation, it wasn’t based on any _fact_ , not as far as she could tell. Austin sighed and picked up her coffee, dumping in a pack of sugar and some creamers, wondering how she could’ve let the ramblings of an anonymous phone caller leader her to believe such an insane idea.

 _It doesn’t explain how he knew so much about the case,_ she thought. _It doesn’t explain him knowing about Tressler–_

“Wait,” she said, her mind suddenly kicking into high gear. “Wait, Fuller.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Alright let’s… let’s believe, for a minute, that the Eye exists and that Rhodes is a part of it. Why would they have him driving around the country in a van with five kids?”

Fuller paused, thinking. “They don’t have enough resources to bring them in?”

“Or?”

Another pause, this one shorter. “Tressler. They’re trying to draw out Tressler.”

Austin drank some of her coffee, again forgetting Fuller couldn’t see her nod. “They want to put Tressler away, just like us,” she said. “They tried to stop him before and it didn’t work, and he’s been attacking magicians ever since. They want him gone for good this time.”

“So they’re using the Dylan and the kids to draw him out–”

“And letting us nab the bastard for whatever it is he’s going to do.”

Fuller took a deep breath on the other end, his mind reeling. “Boss, we…” he began, “If this is true…”

“It may still not be,” Austin said, but she wasn’t sure if she still believed it.

“But if it _is_ …” Fuller paused. “That means Dylan–”

“Is technically a member of a criminal organization. I know, Fuller.” She took another drink of coffee, whishing it was something stronger – whiskey, maybe, or vodka. “He was already toeing the line with those kids. Even if we take down Tressler, we’d have to bring him in for questioning. And if Tressler knows about the Eye, then you know he’ll be damn sure we have to drag Dylan down with him.”

Fuller fell silent and Austin with him, trying to suck air into her lungs. She’d hoped she could get Rhodes off for helping them catch Tressler, let him keep the kids and maybe put him in witness protection or something, but if this was true, there was no way that would happen.

She wasn’t sure she wanted it to happen either. If it was true, Rhodes had lied to all of them from the beginning.

A migraine pounded behind Natalie Austin’s temples, and once again she wished that damn caller hadn’t decided to tip her off. Everything was too screwed up and confusing right now, and she was too tired to try and make sense of any of it.

“Who do you think the tipper was?” Fuller finally asked.

She paused, her mind taking a moment to snap back. “I don’t know,” she said. “Male. He masked his voice but I could still tell that from speech patterns. Intelligent, obviously knowledgeable about the case and about the Eye. I didn’t get the feeling he was giving the information as a Good Samaritan.”

“So this may be exactly what he wants,” Fuller reasoned. “Make us suspicious of Dylan, put false ideas in our heads. Distract us.”

“Maybe,” Austin said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Silence again. Another sip of coffee, more staring out the windows into the darkened city. Deputy Director Natalie Austin suddenly felt exhausted.

“I need to call Cowan,” she said, putting her mug on the counter. “And Dray. I’ll need to–”

“Boss, stop.” Fuller’s voice was stern. “Cowan and Dray can wait until morning. You need rest.”

He was right about that, but the case came first. “Fuller–”

“Listen, as someone who’s had to deal with Cowan at two AM multiple times, trust me. You do _not_ want to call him right now. And calling Alma in the middle of the night would be suspicious. Go home, get some rest, and we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

It sounded like a good plan – a much better plan than Austin had been thinking of. Two AM was way too late for her to be up making plans anyway.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright.” She could almost hear him smile. “You’re not the only one working on this case, boss. Remember that.”

She scoffed a little, smirking. “I’ll try.”

Fuller ended the call, leaving Austin with a dial tone and a cooling cup of coffee, her mind too worn out to try and pick apart this new information. Fuller was right – she wasn’t the only one on this case. There were three other people she could rely on. It was about time she started doing so.

Austin sighed and dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. Maybe sleep wasn’t such a bad idea.


	19. Ice Cream for Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter was an adventure. mainly because i had ap lit and my internet shorted out for an entire day. yay.
> 
> thank you for the nice comments and enjoy your trash :)

Alma awoke the next morning curled up on the floor of the van, her arms wrapped around Lula and two blankets thrown over them both. One of them was hers, and the other’s was Lula’s. Both of them were warm.

She cracked an eye open and saw Dylan and Jack on the floor next to them, both under their own blankets and Jack sound asleep on Dylan’s arm. Sunlight filtered through the van’s windshield, hitting Alma right in the face, but it cast Dylan and Jack in a soft, warm light – they actually looked peaceful for once. It was nice.

She could see the slow rise and fall of Dylan’s chest under his blanket, lying curled up on his side like Alma. He’d apparently forgotten a pillow despite there being one right above his head on the leaned-back driver’s seat. At least she and Lula had remembered that.

Alma realized how much she was aching from sleeping on the floor and groaned, shifting to make herself a little more comfortable. Lula groaned too and rolled out of her arms, ending up facedown on the van’s rug-strewn floor.

“Thith ith not my bed,” she said, her eyes still shut tight and her face squashed against the floor. Alma cracked a smile and shifted so she could look down towards the end of the van.

She saw three sets of eyes staring right back, all stuck in rather amused faces.

 _Well_ , Alma thought. _Looks like they’re awake_.

“So,” Merritt began, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Jack and Dylan’s faces became irritated and they groaned, finally waking up. “I see everyone had a rather pleasant night in the Horsemen Van Household.”

“Merritt, shut up,” Jack mumbled, pulling his blanket over his head.

“Who had the nightmare?”

Jack pointed a finger at Lula, and Lula stuck her hand in the air. “It was great,” she informed everyone. “Really fun.”

“Oh I bet.” Merritt grinned, tipping his hat back on his head. “I mean, you dragged Dylan and Alma out of their seats for this one. You sure you’re okay?”

Lula lifted a thumbs-up and grabbed her pillow, burying her face in it. Dylan groaned and slowly sat up, shifting so he could lean against a box, his eyes meeting Alma’s with a smile.

“Morning,” he said drowsily.

Alma smiled and just waved back, figuring speech wasn’t the best idea this early in the morning with so little coffee.

“Hey, you know what?” Henley said, glancing at Danny. “I have an idea. How about we get ice cream?”

Dylan gave her an exasperated look, but Jack and Lula immediately began sitting up, rubbing their eyes and yawning. Alma followed suit.

“Ice cream?” Dylan asked. “For breakfast?”

“Yeah, why not?” Henley said with a grin. “I mean, with everything that’s been going on, we’ve basically earned it.”

“That is definitely true,” Danny said. “Plus, we’re in Texas right now, where everything is unnecessarily enormous. Getting ice cream here means we’ll be getting servings the size of our heads.”

“I’m sorry, Atlas,” Dylan said, “but uh, exactly what part of that sentence was supposed to _convince_ me this was a good idea?”

“Dylan, come on. You have _me_.”

Alma stared at Danny in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, Danny’s our ice cream connoisseur,” Henley explained, smirking at him. “He has uh, how do you say it again?”

“A refined taste for the frozen lactose confectionary.”

Alma raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dylan, who just rolled his eyes. Obviously, he’d stopped trying to understand Daniel Atlas a long time ago.

“Please, Dylan? Can we get ice cream?” Lula asked, begging him with her adorable puppy eyes. Dylan shook his head.

“We’re not getting ice cream for breakfast,” he said.

“Oh come on! It’ll make me feel better!”

He made the mistake of looking right at Lula, who by god was milking her puppy dog face with such force it convinced Alma too. And the rest of the kids were obviously on board with this idea. Henley looked ready to murder him if he didn’t say yes.

Dylan just groaned – so much for winning this argument.

“This is the only time it’s ever happening,” he said, still trying to maintain some semblance of authority, but this early in the morning it was futile. All the kids in the van cheered, Jack and Lula high-fiving and Merritt giving Danny a fist bump.

Dylan just gave Alma a sheepish grin and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck as he picked up his blanket.

* * *

Dylan forced everyone to at least shower and make themselves presentable before they invaded an ice cream shop at nine am, but once that was accomplished, Danny set out to find the best ice cream shop along I-40 using Henley’s laptop. Eventually, he found one about twenty miles away, in a small town in the middle of nowhere. They parked in the parking lot an hour after opening. No customers aside from them, but the creamery guys gave both them and their van some really weird looks.

“Okay kids,” Dylan said, resigned, “order your ice cream. Try not to make it too expensive, please.”

Lula grinned maniacally. “I’m gonna order _all_ the toppings.”

“No, Lula.”

She just cackled and joined Jack and Merritt up near the front of the line, where all the kids were debating which flavors and toppings to get. Danny was ranking on Merritt for not wanting to get a cone – _eating ice cream in a bowl is an affront to humanity, I’ll have you know McKinney_ – and Jack was listening in and laughing.

Alma smiled, hands in her pockets and waiting for the kids to go before she ordered her own incredibly healthy ice cream breakfast. She was having trouble deciding what flavor to pick – maybe she should try something new. After all, she was in an entirely different continent. If she couldn’t go sight seeing, she might as well be adventurous where she could.

“Hey,” Dylan said, walking up next to her with a smile. “You okay?”

Alma gave him a weird look. “Yes, I’m fine. Why?”

“I don’t know, you kind of spaced out there for a minute, I thought…” Dylan’s smile became nervous and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Eh, never mind.”

“What?” Alma asked, curious.

“Just, uh. The kids sometimes space out when they’re having a rough time or thinking about stuff or something. It kinda worries me.” He shrugged. “Sorry. Just an instinct, I guess.”

“Well, it’s a good instinct.” Alma gave him a smile and nudged his shoulder, and Dylan smiled too. “I’m fine, Dylan, don’t worry about me. Just trying to decide an ice cream flavor.”

“An ice cream flavor?” Dylan’s smile grew into a wide grin. “What, is plain old vanilla just not good enough for you?”

“I did not travel over a whole ocean and half a continent for plain old vanilla ice cream, Dylan,” Alma said. “If I’m here, I want to try something new. Any suggestions?”

“Me? I am not the guy to ask about ice cream, trust me. Ask Atlas. Hey, Atlas!”

Danny turned around, giving Dylan a look. “Yeah, what?”

“What ice cream flavor should Alma get? She wants to try a new one.”

Danny contemplated for a moment, glancing between Alma and the ice cream selection like he was a sommelier making a wine pairing. Eventually, he nodded and turned to Alma with a grin.

“Blue Moon,” he said. “They don’t usually have it in most ice cream places, so when they do have it I always suggest you try it. It’s pretty good. But don’t get any toppings with it.”

“Oh my god, Blue Moon is the _best_ ,” Henley added. “Seriously, Alma, get it.”

“Yeah, Daniel knows what he’s talking about when it comes to ice cream,” Merritt said, winking at Atlas. “Probably the only thing, if we’re being honest.”

Danny punched him on the arm, glaring, but Merritt just laughed and ordered his ice cream, earning a disgusted look from Danny when he ordered it in a cup.

Alma shook her head. “Well, I guess I know what I’m getting now,” she said.

“Yeah…” Dylan shook his head too, laughing. “Oh god, what was I thinking, letting them have ice cream? The van’s gonna be a mess.”

“That is true,” Alma admitted, watching Lula jump up and down as the man behind the counter handed her a loaded ice cream cone. “Then again, it’s hard to argue against all five of them _and_ Lula’s adorable little face.”

“Oh my god…” Dylan laughed again, and that sound alone hit Alma in a way she couldn’t describe. “Let me just tell you, that stupid little face has nearly gotten us in trouble multiple times. It’s ridiculous. One time, she convinced all of us to go to a karaoke bar.”

“No way.”

“ _Yes_. I only agreed to it because it was her birthday and we’d just had a decent gig a few towns over.” Dylan shook his head and smiled, his eyes far away has he remembered the story. “God, it was ridiculous. And then she kept roping people into singing stuff. Like she somehow got Merritt to sing the Russian national anthem, because for some reason that was an option on the karaoke machine? I don’t know. And then she tried to have me sing this horrible Rick Astley song that Danny and Henley kept telling me not to sing…”

Dylan kept going on and on, smiling and happy and waving his hands around to mime singing with a microphone, talking about not being able to sing at all and still having to belt out some horrible 80s tune because of Lula’s puppy eyes, and Alma couldn’t help but smile. He looked so _happy_ for once, actually happy without any hint of tiredness or sadness in his eyes. His dark hair was curled around his ears, grin flashing whenever he glanced over at Alma, talking and laughing almost as much as Lula and Danny but Alma didn’t want him to stop. He never got to be this happy. She never got to see him look so happy in front of her, dark eyes wide and his hand on her shoulder shaking her–

“Alma, hey, you okay?”

Alma snapped out of her trance, a flush spreading up to her cheeks, Dylan staring at her in concern. She blinked a few times and tried to say something, but for some reason she couldn’t.

What on earth was wrong with her?

“Uh, y-yes!” she managed, putting on a smile. “Yes! Yes, sorry, I’m fine. I just, um…” She waved her hands around, not sure how to say what she meant. “I kind of–”

“Zoned out again?” Dylan provided.

“Yes, that. Sorry.” She smiled nervously. “I’m um, I’m just tired. Sorry. I should probably go… ice cream… um.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course.” Dylan dropped his hand, Alma tucking some hair behind her ear before turning away to enter the now-empty ice cream line, asking the man at the counter for a cone of Blue Moon. Merritt was standing next to the cash register, eating strawberry ice cream with chocolate sprinkles out of a cup and watching her curiously.

“You okay?” he asked.

Alma nodded, taking her ice cream from the attendant and digging a few American bills out of her pocket. “Just tired,” she said, placing the money on the counter. She was suddenly very aware of Dylan coming up behind her, ready to pick his own ice cream and pay for everything at the register, and Merritt gave her a look that told her he wasn’t convinced.

“You sure?” he asked, almost smiling, but Alma didn’t have the chance to reply before her phone rang.

She paused, surprised for a moment, before pulling out her phone and staring at the screen. Unknown Caller. She knew what that meant.

“I should take this,” she muttered, stepping out of line and heading for the door.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dylan called. The bell over the door jingled, distracting Alma enough to focus.

“Mhmm!”

She stepped out into the chilly morning air, blue ice cream in hand, and lifted the phone to her ear as she walked a little ways away, trying to ignore Dylan and the kids staring at her back as she listened to Natalie Austin’s message.

* * *

Alma returned a little under ten minutes later, her mind too addled and her stomach too twisted to really understand any of what had just happened. She needed to organize her thoughts, to sit down and figure out what Austin had said, what this meant for the Horsemen, and how she should tell Dylan. She needed to figure out what had happened ten seconds before she’d gotten her ice cream.

Unfortunately, when she walked back inside, the only people still there were Merritt and Danny. How long had she been gone?

“Where is everyone?” she asked, looking around. Merritt shrugged and took another bite of ice cream.

“Henley’s in the bathroom,” he said. “Dylan and the two gremlins drove to the gas station to fill up.”

“Didn’t you notice the van was missing?” Danny asked, biting into his cone.

Alma shook her head and glanced outside through the windows. The van was, in fact, missing from its former parking spot; she wondered how on earth she could’ve missed that while walking directly past it.

“You okay?” Merritt asked, tilting his head slightly. He looked almost like a parrot. Alma started to nod, but she eventually shook her head and sighed.

“I’m um…” She paused, remembering the word in English. “Overwhelmed. A lot of stuff just happened and I, I need to think.”

“What was the call about?” Danny asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll tell you in the van,” she answered. “Everyone needs to hear this.”

Merritt and Danny looked at each other, obviously worried, and Alma suddenly felt guilty – they were eating ice cream, having a good time, and she’d gone and concerned them. _Change the subject, Alma_ , she thought. Talk about something else.

“Sorry, um…” She walked closer, wrapping one arm around her stomach, the other still holding the ice cream cone. “How’s your ice cream?”

Merritt smiled. “Mine’s great,” he said.

“Good,” Danny said evenly. “How’s yours?”

Alma took another bite of her ice cream – she’d been eating it during the phone call, but she hadn’t been able to appreciate the flavor until now. As soon as she swallowed it, she smiled.

“Delicious,” she said. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

“You’re very welcome,” Danny said with a self-satisfied smile. He gave a little bow and continued eating his ice cream, Merritt rolling his eyes.

“Why did Henley say you were an ice cream expert?” Alma asked, genuinely curious. “I wasn’t exactly aware such things existed.”

“Oh trust me, he is the only one of these so-called ‘Ice Cream Connoisseurs’ in the country,” Merritt said, providing air quotes and another sarcastic eye roll. “If not the damn hemisphere. I just call it picky.”

“Excuse you, there is nothing wrong with being picky about ice cream,” Danny replied, already almost done with his cone. “Besides, it pays to have some other weird talent outside of magic tricks. You’d know that if you had one, Merritt.” He turned towards Alma, ignoring Merritt’s insulted face, and shrugged. “Anyway, to answer your question; I sort of just acquired the skill back when I lived with my parents. Not really a big deal. It mostly involved me searching the Internet for ice-cream-related articles instead of doing my homework. Nothing actually impressive. I mostly just did it to get my parents’ attention.”

As soon as the words left Danny’s mouth, it looked like he wanted to swallow them back into his chest and forget the conversation entirely. He looked down at his cone, twisting it between his thumb and his forefinger. Merritt glanced at him and took another bite of strawberry ice cream.

Alma wasn’t really sure what to say.

“Um.” Danny winced a little, still staring at his cone. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to… yeah, anyway.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Alma said, giving him a smile. She was honestly grateful for the distraction – she could sort her thoughts out later. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known–”

“No, it’s not…” Danny coughed and looked up, still not meeting Alma’s eyes but his eyes raised, at least. “It’s not like, a painful subject for me or anything I was just…” He sighed. “I just figured, I mean, you’ve basically been learning everyone’s intense backstories and everything and I’d much rather just tell you mine outright than have it be a public spectacle in the back of the van. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually do that well under attention.”

Merritt snorted, and Danny kicked him in the shin, glancing up at Alma. She shrugged and smiled.

“If you want to tell me, you can,” she said. “But don’t feel pressured to–”

“No, no, no, I do. I do.” He grimaced and shrugged, eyes still darting about the room and never meeting Alma’s. “I mean, mine isn’t actually bad at all, compared to everyone else’s. I just, um… I had eight siblings, and I didn’t exactly stand out in any way. My parents kind of, didn’t really care about me. At all. To be perfectly honest I legitimately doubt they’ve even noticed I’m gone.” He shrugged. “Whatever. It’s not like any of them hit me or anything. I just didn’t get attention. That’s basically it.”

Merritt raised an eyebrow. “You say that like you didn’t end up with extreme social anxiety and OCD and about a thousand other mental issues thanks to their neglect.”

“Well you know what? I also got an incredible appreciation for ice cream and a career as a magician at fifteen thanks to their neglect too,” Danny replied. “It’s fine. I don’t need to make a big deal out of it, I just wanted her to know.”

He turned back to Alma, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment before he shrugged again. “Yeah,” he said. “Anyway.”

She nodded, trying to figure out what to say. “Okay,” she said. “I’m uh, I’m glad you told me, Danny.”

“Mhmm, yeah.” He popped the end of his ice cream cone into his mouth, chewing it up and swallowing. “Can we please talk about something else now?”

Alma just smiled and shook her head – Daniel Atlas’s thoughts moved at a thousand miles per minute, his mouth fighting to keep up. She had no hope of understanding him. Even if his parents had paid attention to him, she doubted they would’ve been able to either.

 “Here, I have an idea,” Danny said, turning to Merritt. “Merritt, how about you go now?”

“What?” Merritt stared at him. “This ain’t a therapy session, Atlas.”

“Oh come on, she’s going to find out sooner or later, it might as well be on your terms.”

“I’m not–”

“Hey!”

All three of them turned to see Henley walk out of the bathroom, arms crossed over her chest. “Are you two still bickering?” she asked. “Hi, Alma.”

“Hi, Henley.” Alma smiled as Henley came up and stood next to her. “We were just having a therapy session.”

“Ooh, a therapy session!” Henley smirked. “What kind, couple’s counseling?”

Merritt snorted into his ice cream as Daniel made the most disgusted face and jerked away from Merritt, sticking his tongue out.

“No, gross Henley!” he said.

“Aw, Danny boy!” Merritt feigned being hurt. “But I thought you _liked_ guys!”

“Yeah, but not _you_!”

Henley burst out laughing as Merritt made a face, still pretending to be upset. “Don’t do that, Atlas, come on,” he said. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

“Oh, break your heart? Really? That’s interesting, because I wasn’t aware there was anything in that position to break.”

“Ohhhhhhh!” Henley shouted, laughing and pointing at Merritt’s face. He shook his head and shoved her away with a grin.

“You dicks,” he muttered. “Both of you suck.”

“Yeah, you wish,” Danny said. Henley hissed _burn_ through her teeth and high-fived Danny, both of them smirking at Merritt like a victorious tag-team of insulters. Which was essentially what they were. Alma put her head in her hands and sighed; how had Dylan managed to put up with this for a year?

“You are all ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.

“Aw, come on Alma,” Henley said, wrapping her arms around her in a hug. She grinned up at Alma, Danny smiling right behind her. “You know you love us.”

Alma rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

“You do?” Danny asked suddenly. His eyes were wide and focused on Alma’s, and Henley and Merritt suddenly fell quiet. “Really?”

She stopped, realizing what she’d just said, the other three kids staring at her like she’d accidentally let something slip. Had she meant to blurt that out? Was that… really how she felt? Alma hadn’t even realized it’d happened, but as she thought back to the past few days, to Henley and Jack and Lula, and now Merritt and Danny…

 _Of course it’d happened_ , she thought. _With everything that’s been happening, how could it_ not _happen?_

But something had stopped her from ever actually admitting it. Maybe it was because she was technically an Interpol agent sent to guard them. Maybe it was because they were all magicians in the Eye and thus technically criminals. And now, after the call she’d gotten from Austin, she wasn’t even sure how to go from here.

 _“Don’t tell them you know about the Eye,”_ Austin had ordered. _“Whatever you do, don’t let them know.”_

But she already knew. And they trusted her, all of them. How could she _not_ tell them?

Alma sighed, trying to find the right words to say. “I…” she began, starting to smile, “uh–”

The light jingling of the bells over the ice cream shop door interrupted her sentence, followed immediately by a bang that must’ve been the door. All four of them turned towards the sound in surprise and saw Jack and Lula burst into the store, panicked and terrified and chests heaving. Lula seemed to be limping. Jack had the beginnings of a black eye.

They both locked eyes with Alma, and she knew immediately what was wrong.

“Dylan,” the kids breathed, eyes wide with fear.

The six of them didn’t say a word as they sprinted out of the shop, following Jack and Lula across the parking lot to the gas station.


	20. Everybody Hates Texas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> formal apologies to anyone who lives in Texas

They’d only been at the gas station for five minutes when Dylan saw trouble brewing.

After they reached the station, Dylan let Jack and Lula go stand near the edge of the parking lot and put on a little show to make some extra money – they were probably going to need it the way they kept eating. He made sure to keep them in sight and told them to call if him there was any trouble. True, they could take care of themselves, but that didn’t stop him from worrying, especially about the youngest two magicians in the van. He had to keep them safe.

As he filled up the tank and Jack and Lula drew a small crowd, he noticed a pick-up truck filled with college-aged boys drive into the lot and park. There were about five of them, all clamoring out of the vehicle and jabbering amongst themselves, a few of them stumbling like they were drunk. The truck had a license plate with the Confederate flag on it.

 _Oh great_ , Dylan thought, turning back to the gas pump. _Racists in Texas. What a rarity_.

He didn’t make the connection until a few seconds later.

A few raised voices at the edge of his parking lot caught his attention, and Dylan shifted so he could see past the van towards the noise. Next to the curb, where a crowd had gathered around Jack and Lula, the boys were shoving their way through and laughing obnoxiously. One of them said something to Lula that Dylan couldn’t make out. Lula’s face went red, hurt and angry, and Jack started yelling at them, the crowd growing uneasy and starting to disperse.

The gas pump clicked, but Dylan was already walking away through the parking lot, hands curled into fists.

“-didn’t realize the little brat had such a fighter in him,” one of the guys said, his thick Texan accent slurred with alcohol. His back was to Dylan, hands on his hips as he leered down towards Jack. “I bet your mommy and daddy got sent back over the border and left you for dead. That why you’re putting on a shitty magic show next to a gas station?”

“Leave him alone, you giant twat!” Lula yelled. Another guy sneered at her, taking a threatening step closer.

“The hell did you just call him?” he asked.

“A twat,” Lula replied, not backing down. Dylan smiled, now close enough to hear every word. _That’s my girl_. “It’s a… uh, Jack, what’s a twat?”

Jack stared at her. “Why did you use it if you don’t know what it means?” he asked. 

“I don’t know! It’s an insult, isn’t it?”

“Hey!”

The five boys all turned around at Dylan’s shout, most of them looking irritated. Jack and Lula smiled in relief, but they were still tense, still surrounded by racist frat boys. Dylan stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to look nonchalant, like a casual passerby, ignoring the growing anger in his stomach. He gave the guys a tight smile.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, eyes scanning the group. He picked out the leader easily – better clothes, better posture, and a presence that just oozed command. The other four guys glanced at him, and Dylan locked his gaze onto that one.

 _If you came here looking for trouble,_ he thought, _you’re going to lose_.

“Nothing,” the guy replied, his gaze even with Dylan’s. He shrugged and smiled. “So long you keep moving. This isn’t your problem.”

“Are you seriously harassing little kids in a parking lot?” Dylan asked, trying to sound unimpressed. “Do you not have anything better to do?”

The guy sneered, narrowing his eyes. “Harassing’s a bit of a strong word for that,” he said. “I prefer the phrase… putting them in their place.”

“Our _what?_ ” Lula snapped, looking as furious as an adorable twelve-year-old could manage. “Really? What kind of _1950s bullshit_ –”

“Lula,” Dylan scolded before he could stop himself. Could she stop cursing five seconds? Please? She was spending too much time around Henley and Danny.

He felt the tension of the group shift towards him, and Dylan suddenly had the wonderful revelation that he was, in fact, outnumbered five to one. And by a bunch of guys who were younger and in better shape than him. And taller. He was currently backed by two twelve-year-olds and Veronica the hamster.

Why hadn’t he called Alma or Henley for backup again? Oh, right. Because he was an idiot.

“Oh, so you know them,” the leader smirked. “That’s nice. What, you pick them up off the street somewhere?”

Dylan opened his mouth to reply that no, no he hadn’t, before realizing that was a blatant lie. His pause earned a scoff from the head honcho.

“Figures,” he said, taking a few steps closer to Dylan. He stood right in front of him with his hands in his varsity jacket pockets, smirk wide on his face. “The street’s where you find most of the trash.”

Dylan would’ve pummeled him right then and there had Jack not beaten him to it.

Jack sprang forward before anyone could react and threw a five of hearts through the air, slashing the guys ear like a knife. Varsity Jacket shouted in pain and spun around, and he threw three more cards right at his face as Lula kicked one guy in the crotch, sending him screaming to the ground. As Jack prepped a fourth card, one of the other kids clocked him right in the eye.

Dylan saw red; he burst forward and tackled the puncher to the ground, struggling for a second before slamming his fist into the guy’s nose. He felt it crack under his knuckles and blood spurted out, the guy howling in pain, but someone grabbed Dylan by the back of his jacket and hoisted him up before he could get another jab in.

“Kids!” he yelled, trying to twist out of his jacket. He caught sight of a drunk guy kicking Lula in the shin and her yelling in pain, limping out of the way of his second blow. “Get Alma, now!”

Jack and Lula immediately started to sprint off, but Varsity Jacket got in their way; he snagged Lula’s arm and yanked her back, shoving her towards the ground, and Jack ran back to protect her. Dylan twisted out of his jacket, slipping a spare card out of his sleeve and throwing it towards the guy before he could hurt them.

He wasn’t the card thrower Jack was, but the card did what it needed. It sliced Leader Boy right under the eye, giving Jack time to pull Lula up and run away. Dylan quickly backed up towards the gas station and watched them run, the five assholes all turning towards him with murder in their eyes.

It was the second time in the past minute and a half Dylan had realized this was a bad idea. Now he really _was_ outnumbered five to one, and the asshats were pissed as hell. _And_ they had his jacket.

 _Alma and her damn Interpol gun better show up quick_ , Dylan thought. _Unless she wants to find me smeared on the asphalt like road kill_.

“You’re gonna pay for that, old man,” Varsity Jacket threatened, gritting his teeth. “You and those freak show kids.”

“Uh, excuse me? Old man?” Dylan shouted indignantly. “I’m not old!”

“Older than us,” one kid chimed in with a smirk.

He couldn’t exactly argue with that, but he wasn’t _old_. He was thirty-six! That wasn’t old! Was it?

He didn’t have time to respond before one of them attacked, swinging his fist towards Dylan’s head like a club. Dylan easily ducked and punched him in the gut, the guy doubling over and retching. Another one grabbed his arm before he could swing again and twisted him around – Leader Boy, back for more. His fist came out of nowhere and slammed into Dylan’s face, the guy’s ring slicing under his eye like a knife. Dylan’s head snapped back and he saw stars for a second, the kid getting in another punch on the side of his ribs before he managed to dodge away. But Jesus Christ there were so _many_ of them; now they had him surrounded, and he was already breathing heavy and aching. Damn it, this is what he got for doing nothing but drive a van for a year. Dylan was too out of shape for this.

Dylan spun around, gritting his teeth as the guys closed in. _This was a bad idea,_ he kept thinking. _This was a very, very bad idea. This was a_ horrible _idea. Why did I think this was a good idea?!_

Two of the guys pounced, landing blows that Dylan could barely duck away from, him swinging his fists towards anything that moved. One guy grabbed the back of his shirt, and Dylan threw his weight forward and twisted, the younger man flying forward and stumbling towards the ground. He slipped out of his grip and managed to clock one of them in the eye before another guy – the one with the broken nose – kicked him right in the chest and sent him falling backwards to the asphalt. He skidded a little, his back and elbows burning from impact. Every part of his body ached like he’d just tried to run a marathon.

He groaned and sat up, somehow managing to get to his feet while the other five guys watched, smirking. They knew they were going to win. Hell, Dylan knew they were going to win. His legs were shaky and he could taste blood, and every movement he made hurt.

 _I’m about to get my ass handed to me by five assholes in a pickup truck_ , he thought bitterly. _Great_.

But then, out of the corner of his eye…

“That all you got?” Dylan asked, grinning. He could feel the split on his bottom lip grow wider, but that didn’t matter. He had to keep them distracted.

The guy scoffed as Dylan raised his hands like a fighter, ready to go down swinging if needs be. “What, you want more?” he asked. “There’s five of us and one of you, old man. You aren’t getting out of this one.”

“Actually, I think he is.”

Dylan’s grin grew wider as the five guys turned around, staring straight down the barrel of Alma Dray’s loaded gun.

He’d never been so happy to see her in his life.

“Agent Dray, FBI,” she said smoothly, sparing Dylan a quick glance before carefully watching the others. “Do you mind telling me why you’re beating someone up?”

“Listen bitch,” Varsity Jacket spat, obviously pissed, “he swung first.”

A spark of anger in Dylan resurfaced, but the amused look in Alma’s eyes hardened before he could speak. _She’s got this_. “I suggest you reword that,” she said tersely. “Now. You let him come with me, or I’ll shoot every single one of you. Are we clear?”

Leader Guy didn’t seem to like that – he growled and took a step forward, Dylan ready to pounce on him again if he laid a finger on Alma, but she was faster; her gun darted down and fired a bullet into the asphalt next to his shoe, the explosion louder than expected. Varsity Jacket let loose a high-pitched scream and leapt back ten feet, glaring daggers at Alma.

She just smirked and quirked her head to the side, raising her gun again.

“Are we clear?” she repeated.

The guys didn’t seem too happy, but they parted and let Dylan walk through them to join Alma. He scooped his jacket up off the ground on the way, wincing as he put pressure on his aching ribs. She led him to the back of the van and told him to climb inside, keeping her gun trained on the boys and positioning herself between them and Dylan. Protecting him.

Dylan climbed in and realized the kids were already inside, Merritt in the driver’s seat; he started the van as soon as Dylan was in too.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Alma said, climbing into the van behind him. Then Danny and Henley shut the doors, and Merritt gunned the vehicle out of the gas station.

* * *

“You know what’d be nice?” Dylan said as soon as they were on the highway. “Me going two days on this trip without getting my ass handed to me.”

That got a laugh. “Yeah,” Merritt said up front, “you do seem to have an uncanny knack for that. Was it the same way while you were an FBI agent, worse?”

“Ha, ha, McKinney.”

He just shook his head and turned back to the road, easing them towards the left lane of the highway. Dylan rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth – lip still bleeding. Alma looked at the blood in concern.

“You’re hurt,” she said simply.

He stared at her. “I’m fine,” he replied.

“No you’re not,” Jack said from the back, where Henley was helping out him and Lula on Merritt’s beach chair. Danny was sitting on the couch, compulsively cleaning his glasses with his shirt to calm down.

“Well you two aren’t fine either,” Dylan replied as Alma dug around in her messenger back. “Hey Henley, how are the kids holding up?”

“WE’RE FINE!” Jack and Lula yelled indignantly from the back.

Henley shrugged and gave Dylan a look. “They’re fine,” she deadpanned.

“Nobody in this car is ‘fine,’” Danny muttered, slipping his glasses back on. No one really argued with that.

Dylan turned back to Alma as she sat in the chair across from him, placing a tiny first aid kit on the circular table between them. He suddenly felt hyper conscious of everything she was doing.

“Alma, I don’t need doctoring, alright?” Dylan said, watching her. She pulled out a plastic pack from her bag and shook it, tossing it to Dylan. It was freezing – a portable ice pack.

“You’ve been having trouble breathing since you got in the van,” she replied, focusing on opening the first aid zip case. “Your ribs are bruised and you have several cuts on your face. And your elbows were skinned from the pavement. I need to clean them.”

“ _Alma_.” Dylan stared at her, feeling self-conscious. “I’m not–”

“Dylan.”

He stopped, her hands resting on his and her eyes too intense for him to argue with. Nothing he said was going to stop her. And besides, she was right – he was kind of hurt. Kind of. Not seriously enough to warrant _this_ , obviously, but…

He sighed. Who was he trying to kid anyway?

“Fine,” he said, looking away. “But I’m not that hurt.”

“Sure you aren’t.” The edge of Alma’s mouth pulled up a little, like she was trying not to smile. “Give me your elbow.”

Dylan did as she asked, watching as she pulled out a small bottle of alcohol and some cotton balls from her zip case. In the back, he could hear Henley and Jack searching the mess for Veronica’s ball, Lula cooing at the hamster to stay calm. Danny was flipping a pair of coins over his fingers, staring into space, obviously thinking. He’d been quieter than usual, Dylan realized. A lot quieter. He made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Ow!” he hissed, jerking his arm away from the stinging. Alma stared at him, an alcohol-dampened cotton ball in one hand and Dylan’s arm in the other.

“It’s just alcohol, Dylan,” she said with a smile. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, gritting his teeth as she pressed the cotton ball to his elbow again. God _damn_ it that stung. But it was over fast, Alma pressing a huge band-aid over his elbow before turning towards the other one.

A new cotton ball, a lot of stinging, another band-aid. Clean, methodical. Alma leaned back and gave him a smile, gesturing towards the ice pack in his hands.

“I gave that to you for a reason,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and pressed the ice pack against his side, the cold seeping into his ribs and helping the pain. Dylan sucked in some air, tense at first and then relaxing. He was going to have a serious bruise there in a few hours.

“Better?” Alma asked, dampening another cotton ball. Dylan gave her a half-hearted glare and turned away.

“I thought you were cleaning me up, not sassing me,” he muttered, unable to keep a smile off his face.

“I can do both, you know,” she replied. “Turn back to me, I need to clean the cuts on your face.”

“It’s fine, Alma, they’re battle scars.”

“ _Dylan_.”

He grinned and turned back around, wincing as she pressed the cotton to his eyebrow. When did he get a cut up there? She cleaned it off methodically, her eyes focused, and Dylan couldn’t help but stare.

Strands of blond hair were still falling out of Alma’s ponytail, falling into her eyes as she slowly cleaned the blood of Dylan’s face. Silver-blue eyes, vaguely almond-shaped, focused but softened. She smelled like cheap hotel soap and vanilla from the ice cream shop. He could see a small mole under her eye, a few freckles scattered over her nose, the angry red pimple on her cheek she’d been complaining to him about a few days ago. Her lips were parted, air ghosting between them, and Dylan wondered what it’d be like if he just leaned forward and–

Alma shifted and pulled away, getting another cotton ball, and Dylan immediately snapped out of his daze. _What the hell was that?_ He thought, his face suddenly burning. He stared at the table, at the carving of the Eye symbol in the wood. _Jesus, Dylan, get your head together. Now is not the time._

When he braved a glance at Alma a second later, she was giving him a weird look.

“You okay?” she asked.

He coughed. “Uh, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. His elbow stung slightly at the movement, but he ignored it. “Sorry.”

She smiled and leaned forward again, bringing the cotton ball up to the cut under his eye. “Sorry for what?” she asked.

“Nothing, just…” He shrugged. “Being an idiot, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Being an idiot? For getting into a fight with five teenagers to help Jack and Lula?” Alma smiled, and Dylan could feel the heat from Alma’s hand where it was resting on his shoulder. He could barely feel the stinging. “That was brave, Dylan.”

“There’s a fine line between brave and stupid,” he replied, giving her a smile in return. She just shook her head and pressed the cotton ball deeper into the cut, the sting making him hiss.

“Ow,” he said, but she just smirked and turned away. Another cotton ball for another cut. He wished Alma Dray wasn’t so beautiful.

She leaned forward again and dabbed the cotton gently against his lower lip, the sting making him his again. Alma just shook her head.

“Such a baby,” she muttered.

“I am not a baby!” he said indignantly. She laughed and pulled away, placing the cotton ball in growing pile on the table. Then she gave him a once-over, making sure there weren’t any injuries she’d missed.

“Do you feel okay?” she asked, grabbing the trash bag box under the driver’s seat and pulling one out. Dylan nodded, realizing he was still pressing the ice pack to his side. Alma dumped the band-aid coverings and the cotton balls into the trash and tied it shut, putting it behind the driver’s seat in case anyone else needed it.

“Um…” she began, chewing her lip. Her eyes were glancing about like she was trying to find something to do, but they wouldn’t meet his. “If… you’re okay, I can go–”

“No, it’s okay,” he said quickly, grabbing her hand. She stopped, and Dylan could feel his heart skip a beat. _You just grabbed her hand, you’re holding her hand, you idiot, why did you do that_. “You don’t have to, um. We can just sit here. It’s fine.”

She was still frozen for a second, and Dylan panicked, thinking he’d said something wrong. But then Alma smiled and nodded, staring at his palm resting over her own as she relaxed back into her chair. He wondered what she was thinking.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

She smiled, lacing their fingers together, and Dylan hoped he wasn’t imagining Alma’s pulse racing just as fast as his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long to get this chapter out! school has started back up, and the pace of my updates will slow because of it. i'll try to get at least one out every week though, thanks for sticking around!


	21. Secret Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate school.

“Hey, guys?” Danny said. “I’m calling a KWAD meeting. Now.”

Henley rolled her eyes in annoyance as Dylan and Alma stared at the kids, confused. They’d just pulled over to a rest stop outside of Texas (everyone agreed there was no way they were stopping anywhere else until they got out of Texas, which also meant they’d been driving for nine hours straight and the sun had already set), and everyone was climbing out of the van, aching and hungry and cramped. But a KWAD meeting was a KWAD meeting, especially if called by J. Daniel Atlas. Henley sighed and jumped out of the van. Maybe she could get some stretching in before the meeting started.

“The hell is a quad meeting?” Dylan asked, still confused. He directed a suspicious look towards Danny, but the teenager ignored it.

“None of your business, is what,” Danny replied, hopping out of the van. “Everyone, KWAD meeting, now. If you don’t know, you aren’t in it.

“Danny, this better not be a drug deal or something.”

“Calm down, Dylan, just give us a minute!”

Dylan sighed and turned back around, giving Alma an _I-don’t-understand-them-at-all_ look and a shrug. She just smiled and rolled her eyes. _Kids_.

Henley, unfortunately, had to follow Danny outside into the freezing cold for his oh-so-important KWAD meeting. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like this.

“You know,” Lula said once they were a decent ways away from the van, “I still think we should change the name. Calling these ‘Kids Who Aren’t Dylan’ meetings kind of implies Dylan is a kid. Which he’s not.”

“That’s debatable,” Danny answered, still trudging along. Just how far away from the van did he want them to get?

“Yeah, plus,” Jack added, “the D can refer to ‘Danny’ too.”

“Wait, really?” An evil grin spread over Merritt’s face. “You know, I’d never actually thought of that.”

“Okay, can we please stop poking fun at me for three seconds and actually focus?” Danny snapped, finally stopping. “This is important! Seriously! I need you guys to be with me on this, alright?”

There were a few exasperated sighs all around, but everyone shut up and listened to Danny. No one called KWAD meetings without a reason, especially him. Something had to be up.

“What is it, Danny?” Henley asked, crossing her arms.

He inhaled, obviously trying to calm his nerves, and looked each and every one of them in the eyes. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Don’t freak out when I say this, but I’m pretty sure I’m right about it. Okay?”

Nods all around, Danny took another breath.

“I think Dylan and Alma are in love.”

Everyone stopped, staring at Danny and each other for a full three seconds of silence. Danny was watching them expectantly. _That_ was what he’d called the meeting for? _Seriously?!_

Henley locked eyes with Merritt, and before they could stop themselves, everyone just burst out laughing.

Danny, to his credit, looked pretty irritated.

“What?” he asked in annoyance. Henley was clutching her stomach she was laughing so hard, and Jack had literally fallen to the ground and couldn’t get up. “What? Guys, come on! This is serious!”

“Dude, dude,” Henley gasped, trying to calm down for Danny’s sake. “Are you just realizing this?”

He stared at her. “Wait, you guys all _knew?_ ”

“It was obvious, man!” Jack said from the ground. “Come on!”

“What? How was it obvious?!”

“Danny, seriously,” Lula said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Jack and I figured it out _yesterday_. Remember Jack gracefully spitting his chocolate milk all over the table?”

“Shut up, Lula,” Jack grumbled. But he was still smiling, lying on his back in the dirt next to the road.

“Yeah, and Merritt and I figured it out on like day one,” Henley said.

“ _Technically_ , I figured it out first,” Merritt injected.

“Yeah well,” Jack said, sitting up, “you’re a mind reader, so your opinion doesn’t count.”

“Excuse me, you little shit?”

Jack laughed and tried to scramble up, but Merritt ran over and grabbed him before he could, throwing Jack over his shoulder and spinning him around. Danny put his face in his hands and groaned.

“I can’t believe you all figured this out before me,” he grumbled, still irritated. Henley laughed and threw an arm over his shoulder, shaking him to make him feel better.

“Oh, don’t worry about it Danny,” she said. “At least you figured it out without us having to tell you!”

“Yeah, that’s a real comfort,” he muttered into his hands. Merritt shook his head, both Jack and Lula climbing on him like a jungle gym.

“Don’t give him false hope, Henley darling,” he said, Lula cackling as she pushed Jack off Merritt’s back and claimed her piggyback spot again. “I’m pretty sure Dylan and Alma figured it out _themselves_ before he did.”

“Shut up, Merritt!”

“Wait, wait,” Henley said, dropping her arm to stare at Merritt. “What? They figured out they like each other?”

“Well, not _exactly_ but…” He stared at her. “Seriously? Am I the only one that noticed the extreme sexual tension between them during the first half of the car ride? _Seriously?_ ”

“No,” Danny said in annoyance, “that’s how I realized it in the first place–”

“Sexual what now?” Lula interrupted, raising an eyebrow. Merritt winced.

“Oh, bad word choice. I meant… romantic tension.”

“Nope, too late,” Jack said, dusting himself off from when Lula pushed him to the ground. “You said it in front of the twelve-year-olds, we’re already scarred for life, Merritt.”

“Eugh,” Lula said, making a face and sticking her tongue out. “Disgusting. It’s like thinking about your _parents_ having sex–”

“Okay!” Henley and Danny shouted, neither wanting this train of thought to go any further. Merritt chuckled, Lula and Jack still making disgusted faces.

“Okay, let’s focus please,” Henley said, bringing the conversation back. “Guys, we need a plan.”

“About what?” Danny asked. “What are you – wait. Wait hold on.” He froze, staring at all of them. “Wait.”

“Look at our little Danny go, figuring things out all on his own!” Merritt said, giving him an evil grin. “Did everything we’ve been doing for the past few days finally click in that little brain of yours?”

“Oh my god, be quiet,” Danny said, trying to ignore Merritt. He turned to Henley instead. “Okay, wait, so you guys have been trying to set them up?” he asked. “For how long?”

“Well, really not until like, yesterday afternoon,” Lula said with a shrug. “That’s when we got, like, concrete confirmation that they both liked each other.”

“Uh, alright.” Danny drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Okay. So we’re actually doing this? Trying to get them together?”

“Well duh, they’re perfect for each other,” Jack said.

Danny stared at him. “They met like five days ago.”

“And?” Henley asked, smiling.

He paused, mulling it over, before conceding with a sigh. “Yeah, okay, fine, they’re perfect for each other,” he grumbled. The thought made him twinge with jealousy a little – how come _Dylan_ was getting more action than him? The guy was almost forty!

“Now that we’re all in agreement,” Henley said, “we need a game plan.”

“Make them _kiss_ ,” Lula said with a maniacal grin.

“That’s not a game plan, Lula.”

“Ooh!” Jack added. “Make them go to a fancy restaurant together!”

“We don’t have enough money for that.”

“What if we just… locked them in the van together?” Danny asked. “Doesn’t that usually work? In like, movies and shit?”

“In movies and shit, yes, but in real life that kills people, Danny,” Henley informed him. He glared at her and shut his mouth, fuming.

“Well you know what I say?” Merritt interrupted, now carrying Lula on his shoulders (how the hell had she gotten up _there?!_ ). “Let’s just see how things play out for now. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen on its own.”

“That’s putting a little too much faith in the fictional institution of love, Merritt,” Danny said. He felt Henley shift a little next to him, uncomfortable for a reason he didn’t know.

“Well, I’m fairly sure it’s a better idea than anything you gremlins have come up with so far,” he replied as Lula took off his hat and put it on her head. “Lula, don’t drop my hat.”

“Chill, Merritt.”

“Alright, okay,” Henley said, once again bringing the conversation back on topic. “So. Our game plan is no game plan? Everyone agree?”

They all shrugged and nodded, so Danny assumed the general consensus was yes. But then Jack cleared his throat, shifting on his feet nervously.

“Is… letting them do this really a good idea?” he asked, staring up at everyone. “I mean, well…”

“Didn’t you just say they were perfect for each other?” Danny asked.

“Well, I mean, yeah, they are but…” Jack chewed his lip. “Alma’s an Interpol agent, right? And she’s technically with the FBI. What if… I mean, what if something happens and, and it just ends up hurting Dylan more?”

Everyone paused, and Danny considered it – he hadn’t thought about that. Honestly, he’d kind of forgotten Alma was technically law enforcement and everything, until Jack brought it up. She’d slipped into their little family so easily it was like she’d always been there.

And what if something _did_ happen? Alma lived in France – a whole ocean away, and she’d probably return as soon as this little mission was over. And if she had to leave, or if she had to give them up to the FBI, or if that was her plan all along… she wouldn’t just hurt Dylan. She’d hurt all of them.

 _Alma wouldn’t do that_ , Danny immediately thought. _She isn’t like that_.

But he wasn’t totally sure. For the past few days, Danny’s trust in things – even himself – had started to flounder. At this point, he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he could still believe in _anything_ anymore.

“Jack,” Henley said, her voice pulling Danny out of his thoughts, “something like that isn’t going to happen. Alright? And even if it does, Alma won’t hurt Dylan. She’s on our side, remember? The Eye?”

“Yeah but…” He sighed, staring down at his shuffling feet. “I dunno. I’m just paranoid or something.”

“It’s okay,” Lula said, giving him a smile. “You’re just worried about Dylan.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, Jackie-boy,” Merritt said, wrapping one arm around Jack’s shoulders and pressing him into his side. “Don’t you worry about that. We’ll just let things happen and see where it goes. You good?”

Jack nodded, a smile spreading onto his face, and the five of them headed back towards the van, chatting about anything and everything as Dylan and Alma waved at them up ahead.

Danny stayed near the back, silent, trying to sort out his thoughts.

* * *

“Thaddeus Bradley? Our employer would like to meet you in the bar.”

Thaddeus looked up from his phone and stared at the men in front of him: a pair of suited cronies, obviously not ones to take no for an answer. He wondered, for a moment, who their employer was, and then it hit him – who else was after the Horsemen and was absolutely swimming in money?

Thaddeus smiled and slipped his phone into his pocket, following the men to the bar. Arthur Tressler wasn’t someone to be trifled with, of that he was sure. Then again, if he was being called for an audience, Bradley either had something Tressler wanted or posed a threat to his goals. Maybe even both. That was certainly something to be proud of.

They walked into the bar area, and Thaddeus saw Mr. Tressler himself sitting at a small table for two in the back corner. He allowed himself to be led over and took a seat, slipping his hat off as he did.

“Arthur Tressler,” Thaddeus said with a smug smile. “Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

Tressler gave him a look. “I wasn’t aware you knew who I was,” he said.

“Oh, I know plenty of things,” Bradley said, his grin growing. “Comes with the territory of being a P.I. And in your case, any P.I. who investigates magicians and doesn’t know about you simply isn’t doing their job correctly.”

He seemed surprised by the answer, but Arthur Tressler took it in stride. _A proper English gentlemen_ , Thaddeus Bradley thought. _Keep calm and carry on._

“What else do you know about me?” Tressler asked, holding his gaze. “And how exactly did you find out?”

“There aren’t any leaks in your system, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” the P.I. replied with a smirk. “But for those of us who know, there’s quite a lot of chatter. A billionaire with a proper upbringing and a slew of illegal deals, your first few million stolen by magicians operating under the Eye. Ever since then you’ve been trying to bring them down, brick by brick. And about a week ago, you tried to capture the Horsemen in Oglethorpe and failed.”

“And how did you discover the Horsemen?”

Thaddeus smiled. “Mr. Tressler,” he said, “please tell me I’m not the _only_ one who did their research.”

Tressler gave the barest hint of a smile before returning to his usual stoic expression.

“Thaddeus Bradley, Private Investigator,” Tressler began, like he was reading from a case file. “Based in Los Angeles, California, specializing in magicians. You’ve been exposing their tricks and getting them wrongfully convicted for the past, oh, twenty-five years I’d say. Your first debunking was on Lionel Shrike, the father of the Horsemen’s leader. Your most recent employers have paid you a handsome amount to return their daughter without involving law enforcement.”

Tressler smirked and leaned back in his chair. “As you can see,” he said, “my line of work also comes with the territory of ‘knowing things,’ Mr. Bradley.”

He smiled. “Glad to be working with someone who does their own research,” Thaddeus said.

“Likewise. But let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Thaddeus nodded, allowing Tressler to continue. He took a drink from the glass in front of him before speaking again.

“We have a common goal, you and I,” Tressler said. “Both of us want the Horsemen, shall we say, out of business, though with a few complicating details in each other’s way. Most especially Henley Reeves.”

Thaddeus nodded. “I assume you brought me here to convince me to hand her over to you instead of her parents?”

“Not the only reason, but yes, that would be much appreciated,” he replied. Thaddeus considered it.

“How much are you willing to pay for a favor like that?” he asked.

“How much are they paying you?”

“Five million.”

“I’ll make it ten.”

Thaddeus grinned. “Sounds nice, but I can’t just hand her straight over to you. I have a reputation to maintain. I’ll need to bring her to her parents first to keep it.”

“I see.” Tressler narrowed his eyes. “So you’ll be making fifteen million, including the parents’ payment.”

“Yes I will, but you get the girl in the end. I think that sounds fair.”

“Hm.” He didn’t seem to think it sounded fair, but Thaddeus knew he wouldn’t go back on his offer. That’d make him seem weak and cheap, and if Tressler wanted to maintain the illusion of control over this bargain, those were two things he couldn’t be seen as.

“Fine,” he said eventually. “Ten million for the girl. Half now, and half when you bring her to me. Understood?”

Thaddeus nodded. “Crystal clear.”

“Good.” Tressler took another drink and pulled out his phone, texting someone before slipping it back into his breast pocket. “Now,” he continued. “I’d like to discuss your call to the FBI early this morning. It seemed rather… out of character, for someone being paid quite a lot of money to keep his activities secret.”

Bradley blinked, surprised Tressler knew about the call, but he quickly realized why – of course someone like Arthur Tressler would have spies in the FBI. That call was probably why he’d chosen to track him down now and not earlier.

“I tried to grab the girl a few days ago,” Thaddeus said, “and I ran into a… complication. There’s an agent traveling with them. Female, armed. I had a feeling she was FBI, so I called to let them know what kind of person Dylan Rhodes really was.”

“You assume the FBI is working with them?”

“It makes sense. Haven’t they been trying to take you down for years? Rhodes was on that team, if you recall. They probably contacted him having no idea he was in the Eye and asked for a partnership. And you going after the Horsemen is leading your right into their trap.”

Tressler nodded, scowling. “Natalie Austin,” he said. “She’s been a thorn in my side since she joined the Bureau.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Thaddeus said, “but I think she has other things to worry about, now that she knows Rhodes is in the Eye.”

He stared at Thaddeus and raised an eyebrow. “You told them?”

“Figured we should be on even ground.”

“Doesn’t this endanger your agreement with the Reeves?”

“Oh, I don’t plan to involve the FBI with Reeves.”

“Then why–” Tressler stopped, realizing why, and gave Thaddeus a mildly irritated look. “You want them to arrest Mr. Rhodes.”

“Yes I do.” Bradley gave him a smug grin.

“You realize this endangers the other Horsemen to FBI involvement as well.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“It is now.” Tressler glared at him. “Henley Reeves is important, but she is simply one part of a much larger whole. If any of those Horsemen are lost to the FBI, you will not receive your second five million until they are returned to me. Understood?”

“That’s changing the deal, Tressler,” Thaddeus said, feeling a little out of his depth.

“Your call to the FBI did that, not me.” He glared at him. “Are we in agreement?”

The expression on Tressler’s face told him this wasn’t up for debate, and Thaddeus had to concede. Fine, he’d make sure to keep track of _all_ the Horsemen, not just Reeves. More difficult, but certainly not impossible. Besides, even if he failed, he’d still have ten million dollars to do with what he liked – though running out on a deal with Arthur Tressler would probably end with him dead.

Tressler kept watching him, waiting for an answer, rubbing his finger along the thin edge of his whiskey glass. Neither man liked not having complete control, but they didn’t have a choice. Thaddeus sighed and sat back.

“Yes,” he said, “we’re in agreement.”

“Good.” Tressler smiled and took another drink. “We will wait for Horsemen to reveal themselves, and then we will make our move. I already have several pieces in play for them to stumble upon, and once they do, we will pounce.”

“I still get Reeves, correct?” Thaddeus asked.

“That, my friend, is up to you.”

 _So_ , he thought. _You grab her before I do, and I don’t get paid. I see how it is._

“Alright,” he answered, feigning nonchalance. “And Rhodes? What happens to him?”

“Oh, I’m sure the FBI will take care of him.”

“He could expose you.”

“Not before I expose him and the rest of his compatriots to FBI Internal Affairs.”

Thaddeus smiled. “I assume you own that entire division?”

“Let’s just say Natalie Austin and her… three musketeers will no longer be an issue. My people there will take care of them. And if I ever need Rhodes, I’ll know exactly where to find him.”

Bradley had to admit he was impressed. He had money, a decent amount of it thanks to working with the higher classes of Los Angeles for the past few years, but the kind of wealth owned by Arthur Tressler was in a completely different game. It never ceased to amaze him just how much power that kind of money could give a single man.

 _He might even have more wealth and power than the Eye itself_ , Thaddeus thought. _No wonder they’ve gotten so sloppy in the past few years – he’s backed them into a corner._

Thaddeus Bradley hoped to god he’d be able to see it when the Eye finally crumbled to the ground. It’s what they deserved for not accepting as great a magician as him.

“Well,” he said, standing up from the table. A man with a small yellow package in his hands approached, suited up like the rest of Tressler’s cronies. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Tressler.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, sir,” he replied, standing up as well. The man handed the yellow package to Thaddeus, who could feel the large stack of bills sitting inside the paper. _Five million dollars_ , he thought, slipping the package into his breast pocket. _I do love my job._

Bradley and Tressler shook hands, and the latter gave a nod before turning away and walking out of the hotel bar. Thaddeus watched him go and slipped his hat back onto his head.

 _Good luck, Horsemen,_ he thought, walking out the back to his private taxi. _With both of us on your tails, you’re going to need it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for being patient with me while i got this chapter out! i've had so much to do with school starting back up and writing takes a lot out of me. but i've still got a wild ride planned for this story so i'm not letting myself give it up. not until all these characters go through hell and back >:D
> 
> thanks for reading!


	22. Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reasons i didn't get this out until monday (i am so sorry)  
> 1) i was sick all last week and kind of still am (lol help me)  
> 2) dragon con  
> 3) there are no excuses left here's another chapter of nysm trash  
> 4) please enjoy

After waking up late in San Jon, New Mexico, getting stuck in heavy traffic five separate times on I-40, and what felt like ten thousand years of complaining, Dylan finally got them to a town right on the New Mexico-Arizona border at around three pm. They all got out, stretched their legs, bought a very late lunch of mostly French fries and bottled water at a nearby fast food restaurant.

“You know, I’m still not sure why they call these ‘French Fries,’” Alma said, holding one up as she stared at it suspiciously. Dylan gave her a weird glance out of the corner of his eye. “In France, we call them ‘American fries.’”

“Really?” Jack asked, amazed.

“Actually,” Danny said, swallowing a mouthful of fries, “it’s debated whether or not French fries were invented in France or in Belgium, but it’s the French that introduced Americans to French fries, which is why we call them ‘French fries.’”

He popped another fry into his mouth as everyone stared at him, surprised and a little weirded out. “What?” he asked, still chewing.

“How do you just _know_ that?” Henley asked.

“I don’t know!” he answered. “I got curious and looked it up on the Internet one day. Don’t you people do that?”

“Uh, I didn’t have access to the Internet until I was nine,” Lula chimed in.

“Lula, literally no one asked you.”

“Okay, let’s get back to the fries, everyone,” Dylan said, stopping Lula before she ripped out Danny’s throat – a situation Merritt would’ve paid millions to see, without a doubt, but killing someone in a McDonald’s probably wasn’t a very good idea for a twelve-year-old. Or anyone, really.

Eventually, they all finished eating their fries and left the restaurant, but no one wanted to get back in the van for a while – getting stuck in it for about six hours on the highway tended to do that to them. So Dylan helped set up a little stage next to the van in a parking lot and told the kids to go wild. He claimed it was so Alma could actually watch one of their shows (not the kind they’d put on in L.A.; the real kind, the ones they did in small towns on the road), but really they just needed money. He had to make sure they could even make it to L.A. before going broke, after all. Merritt could respect that. Besides, it’d been a while since he’d used his mentalism skills on an actual paying crowd.

They drummed up a pretty good audience within a few minutes, and soon the cheering drew more. Atlas went first, of course, with his charming tricks and dazzling feats of magic and whatnot. Then Henley kicked him off stage and summoned fire in her hand, breathing it out over the crowd like a dragon before pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

Then came Lula, who pulled a hat out of a rabbit (she was so proud she’d finally gotten it to work), and then she promptly named the rabbit Keith and introduced him to Veronica before turning Veronica into a shower of rose petals. Merritt was fairly sure they’d stolen those from a florist a couple of weeks ago, but whatever. Alma was grinning from ear to ear, and Dylan with her.

Once the rose petals were done with, Merritt went on stage and hypnotized a few audience members, making them act like five-year-olds to amuse everyone else. Then he called a local up to the stand and described his entire (incredibly boring) life to the audience with enough accuracy to startle the entire town. Then came Jack, who closed the show with amazing card trick after amazing card trick, eventually disappearing off the stage and appearing behind the audience with all the other Horsemen, bowing to a cheering crowd.

In the end, they made over two hundred bucks, and Dylan was in a good enough mood to let the kids wander around for a little while he filled up the gas tank. Alma was amazed, babbling on about the fire and the rose petals and asking them if they could teach her a few tricks. And Dylan, Merritt could tell, even though he tried to hide it, was proud. Not to mention he grinned like an idiot every time Alma smiled.

It was enough to warm Merritt’s cold, unfeeling heart a little, but like all good things, it wasn’t destined to last.

Considering the way their trip had been going, he really should’ve expected it.

* * *

“You sure you don’t want anyone to come with you?” Henley asked him as he walked away towards the convenience store. Merritt just shrugged and kept walking, letting the others go back to the van.

“I’ll be fine, _mom_ ,” he said playfully. “I’m buying crackers and moon pies, it’s not like I’m hunting vampires with a stick.”

“If you find any vampires, tell me if they sparkle or not!” Lula yelled, walking away with Henley. Merritt could hear Jack tell Lula that _Twilight_ was, in fact, a now outdated book series, and she told him to shut up and let her live. He chuckled and turned a corner – stupid kids.

The ancient 7-Eleven wasn’t exactly a sight to behold, but it had food, which was good enough for Merritt. He walked in and picked up three boxes of Ritz crackers and a stack of moon pies, snagging an extra package of water bottles just in case. They’d thank him for that later.

He paused for a moment as he passed by the beer, thinking.

 _You could buy some_ , he thought. _You could buy some and they’d never even know._

He stood there for a moment longer, staring at the boxes of bottles in the fridge, before eventually sighing and turning away. Yeah, he could buy some, but they needed money for other things. Like gas and granola bars and new decks of cards. And pet food, for some reason. Where Henley and Lula had found that rabbit Merritt still had no idea.

He’d been sober for a good few months now. It wasn’t too hard to keep it that way.

He bought all the food and carried it back through the dusty little desert town like some kind of cowboy, trying to remember where they’d parked the van. Two blocks down, right? Or two blocks down and a left? Maybe three lefts? Shit, he was lost.

“How the hell do I get lost in a town the size of a pimple,” he muttered to himself, trying to find a landmark. There was a reason he wasn’t the navigator. “Great fucking job, Merritt. You might’ve broken a record with this one; first person to ever get lost in Punyville, New Mexico”

“Probably the only first place you’ve ever gotten in your life, there, brosky.”

He froze.

Chase cackled behind him, his voice just as annoying as he remembered. Worse, actually. He hadn’t thought he’d ever have to hear it again, or at least not this soon.

 _So much for a regular day,_ he thought, turning around. _Typical._

“Chase,” he said, giving him a fake grin. His brother was wearing his trademark stupid sunglasses and had a head full of fake curly hair, returning his grin with a wide, psychotic smile. Yep, just like Merritt remembered. Fucking asshole. “Didn’t realize you were in town.”

“Oh, I didn’t arrive ‘til this morning,” he replied, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I’ve been following the circus!”

“Ah, the circus. Am I correct in assuming that by ‘circus’ you’re referring to my wonderful family of misfit magicians?”

He winked and shot a finger gun at him. “Still got that sharp mental connection, don’t we brosky?”

“We… really don’t.”

“Oh, too bad.” Another psychotic smile, but this time, Merritt was getting worried. What the hell was Chase doing here? Why was he following them? He obviously hadn’t come to make amends with his brother, because that wouldn’t be happening in a million years. So why–

The realization hit him like a truck. _Tressler, you idiot_ , he thought. _He’s working with Tressler._

Which meant everyone else was in danger too. Maybe they were already captured, and Tressler had just sent Chase after his twin brother in some kind of sick sense of amusement. Honestly, Merritt wouldn’t put it past him.

“Look, Chase,” he said, starting to back up casually. He was still hefting the supplies from the store under his arms. _Get back to the van_. “I would say it was nice seeing you, but it wasn’t, and I really gotta go now, so–”

“Nuh uh,” Chase interrupted, grabbing the front of his shirt. He pulled Merritt back towards him and snapped, putting his two forefingers in the center of Merritt’s forehead.

He tried to let go of the groceries, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move his arms.

 _Shit_.

“Let’s see, let’s see,” Chase said, grinning like a maniac. “You’re thinking of your final destination. Is it… Llllllos Angeles? Oh, yes it is.”

“You could’ve figured that out using a map, asshole,” Merritt snapped, trying and failing to keep calm. He’d sworn to himself to never let his brother hypnotize him again, and yet, here he was. Divulging important information, no less. Of course he was.

He really hated Chase.

“No, no, please stay quiet,” his brother replied, snapping his fingers again. Merritt suddenly couldn’t open his mouth.

 _Chase has gotten better_ , he thought. _A lot better._

“So, Los Angeles,” his twin continued, still grinning. “Let me guess. Putting on a show? Trying to draw out my lovely employer? Shame on you, Mer-bear, getting someone arrested is rude.”

There were several things Merritt would’ve liked to say if his mouth wasn’t hypnotically zipped shut by his sadistic brother, but it was, so all he could do was fume.

“Ain’t gonna work now, since we know and all. What a shame.” He giggled, tilting his head just slightly in a way that made Merritt’s heart race. He looked like a serial killer. “But hey, I’m sure you all could use the money, right? I didn’t realize you’d sunk low enough to start living in a _van_ with a bunch of kids, Mer-bear. Really, I’m disa–”

Merritt slammed his knee into his brother’s crotch, stopping him from saying another word, and Chase screamed and dropped to the ground. With Chase’s focus dropped, it was easy for Merritt to break away from his hypnotism – that was the thing with Chase, he could never get his mentalism to stick. With Merritt, that’d never been a problem.

“You know, bro,” Merritt said, backing up quickly while Chase rolled and puffed on the ground, “I’d apologize, but I honestly don’t give a shit.”

Chase had enough in him to flip Merritt off before he ran in the opposite direction, which Merritt guessed he could commend him for.

He managed to find the parking lot within a minute, Dylan fixing stuff in the back with everyone else nowhere to be found. When Merritt ran in panicked with a load of groceries in his hands, Dylan seemed pretty shocked.

“Tressler,” Merritt breathed, dumping his stuff into the back of the van. “My brother, Chase, they followed us–”

“Where are the kids?” Dylan immediately asked.

“I don’t know!”

Before they could say anything else, two gunshots rang out from somewhere in the town, followed by several people screaming and a lot of yelling. Dylan and Merritt looked at each other.

“Stay with the van,” Dylan ordered.

Then he ran off towards the gunshots, leaving Merritt behind.

* * *

Alma, along with Danny and Henley, was currently hiding behind a dumpster in a narrow alley, clutching her pistol and trying to keep herself and the kids from getting shot.

She really didn’t think she’d have to use her gun this much on a road trip across America with a bunch of magicians.

“What happened?” Alma asked, watching Henley and Danny. The first thing she’d seen were men in black body armor carrying guns trying to drag them off – she shot both of them in the legs and the people nearby screamed, Danny and Henley slipping away and joining her behind the dumpster. Both of them looked panicked.

“I-I don’t know!” Danny said, trying to calm down. “They just came out of nowhere and grabbed us! Who are they?”

“Tressler’s men?” Henley asked. She had pulled herself together and was tying her hair in a ponytail. “How did they find us?”

“Texas,” Danny said immediately, “the guys in Texas. They must’ve called the police and told them about our van, and Tressler must’ve heard and found us out–”

“Where’s everyone else?” Alma asked. The gunshots and died down, but people were still screaming. “I left Dylan with the van.”

“Merritt went to the convenience store alone, but Jack and Lula–”

More gunshots and a scream cut Henley off, and Alma immediately recognized it as Lula’s.

“Oh no,” Danny said.

“This way!” Henley shouted.

The three of them burst up and sprinted to the other end of the alley, emerging on another road. Two more masked men were trying to put Lula in the back of a black van. Alma shot one on the arm and Lula twisted away, but the other one still had her.

“Alma!” she yelled, struggling.

She started to run forward, but the man she’d just shot fired back, and Alma pulled Henley and Danny behind another car parked at the curb. The back window shattered and the side mirror exploded. Then the car alarm went off.

“Lula!” Henley yelled, trying to get up, but as soon as she did another window on the car shattered with a gunshot and Alma pulled her back down.

“No!” she said. “You’ll be shot!”

“We can’t just let them take her!” Danny said.

Alma was about to reply that yes, she knew, and she wasn’t going to let them, when she heard two men yelling and bodies slam onto the ground. A gun clattered to the pavement, and she peeked out from behind the car.

Dylan had just tackled the gunman to the ground and had shattered his visor, punching him in the face. Jack emerged from the street behind him and started throwing cards at something behind the black van, making the other masked man howl in pain and Lula cheer.

“Holy shit,” Henley said, peeking out with Alma. Danny was watching too, eyes wide.

Alma’s brain went into overdrive.

“Henley, Danny,” she said, “sneak around the other side of the car and help Jack and Lula. I’ll help Dylan.”

“What about Merritt?” Danny asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s fine. Go, now!”

The two of them ran off without another word, sneaking on the street-side of the cars to the black van. Alma flexed her grip around her gun and jumped out from behind the car.

“Freeze!” she yelled.

Dylan and the gunman froze, a smile growing on Dylan’s face, when another gunshot rang out behind her.

Her arm jerked forward before she felt the pain, but the pain hit her like a ton of bricks. _Someone had just shot her in the arm._

The momentum of the bullet had twisted her around, and she yelled, clutching her arm with her left hand. She nearly stumbled to the ground, but she managed to stay on her feet and fire back, another three men scattering behind cars and walls. _But now she had no cover_.

“Alma!” Dylan yelled behind her. More guns fired, and Alma ducked behind another car on instinct, her arm smarting. She could feel blood seeping through her fingers.

“ _Merde_ ,” she hissed, back pressed against the car fender. In front of her, Dylan scrambled for cover too, the former gunman unconscious on the sidewalk. He ducked into an alley across the sidewalk from her and pressed his back against the wall, meeting her eyes.

She understood immediately. _I need a gun_.

The unconscious man’s gun was still lying on the sidewalk, closer to her than it was to him, but too far out of reach for her to grab. She held up her own gun instead, offering to toss it to him, but he shook his head. _You need it_.

She shook her head and gestured towards her arm. He still shook his head.

 _This isn’t a debate, Dylan,_ she thought, gritting her teeth and under-handing the gun across the sidewalk. The men fired, but Dylan caught it behind the alley and emerged a second later, shooting at them as he crossed the sidewalk with lightning speed and picked up the other gun.

He slipped behind the car with her as the other men started firing, shattering more car windows, their bullets ricocheting off metal lampposts. Dylan handed Alma back her own gun, winded.

“You okay?” he asked, handling the new gun. She nodded.

The gunshots stopped as two men in black fell to the ground from the back of the black van, obviously unconscious. A third fell down too, Jack popping out with him.

Jack saw the gunmen a little ways away and shrieked, someone yanking him back behind the van before the others open fired.

“Kids!” Dylan yelled. “You alright?”

“We’re fine!” Lula yelled back.

Dylan was about to get up and go to them when two of the men shooting at them burst into view, blocking his way to the street. The third appeared behind Alma, blocking the sidewalk. Dylan and Alma were sandwiched between the fender and bumper of two different cars, unable to move without being shot.

 _They must’ve snuck around the cars while we were distracted,_ Alma thought. Not that it helped, what with their pointing guns at them now and everything.

She just hoped there weren’t any other men to put the kids in danger.

“You’re not going anywhere,” one of the men said, his gun trained on Dylan. “Tell the kids to come out.”

“No way in hell.”

“ _Now_.”

“Dylan?” Jack yelled, the kids still hiding behind the black van.

“Kids, don’t move!” he yelled.

“Give yourselves up, or I’ll shoot him!”

“No!” Alma yelled. She wasn’t sure who it was to, the kids or the man with the gun. Maybe both.

“Get out here, now!” the man yelled again. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way!”

The screech of tires interrupted them all, and suddenly ten thousand pounds of blue and red van slammed into the two men in the street, sending them flying backwards. The man behind Alma yelped and fired, but Alma shot him in the leg before he could do anything else. He fell to the ground with a yell, and Merritt rolled down the window.

“Hate to be a party pooper,” he said, “but we really need to get going. I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Dylan and Alma looked at each other. _Why is he like this?_

Dylan stood up and opened up the van’s side door, yelling for the kids to hurry. They all sprinted out from behind the black van and jumped inside, Alma and Dylan close behind. Merritt slammed his foot on the gas before he even shut the door, gunning the van down the road.

They were out of the town in two minutes flat, and they didn’t stop until they were well into Arizona.

* * *

“We’re cursed.”

Dylan looked up at Danny, who was lying back on Merritt’s beach chair, staring at the ceiling. They’d just crossed into Arizona, and Dylan was busy helping wrap Alma’s hurt arm in gauze.

“What makes you say that, Danny?” Henley asked. “The fact that we haven’t had a normal day on the road since we started heading for L.A., or just our lives in general?”

“Can it be both? Because I’m pretty sure it’s both.”

“Definitely both,” Jack added with a sigh. “How did they even find us?”

“Texas,” Lula replied. “I bet those stupid assholes called the police.”

“Language,” Dylan said.  

“Sorry, stupid _racist_ assholes.”

“Lula that… doesn’t make it any better,” Dylan said. She just shrugged and grinned, sitting on the couch with Jack while petting Kevin the rabbit.

“Do we know for sure that was Tressler?” Alma asked. “Not someone else?”

Dylan shrugged. “They looked a lot like the people who attacked us at Oglethorpe,” he replied. “Thaddeus doesn’t have his own military guard, and if that was a S.W.A.T. team, their uniforms would’ve said so. So unless there’s another rich psycho who’d send a private army into a populated area to come grab us–”

“It was Tressler,” Merritt said up front. “It was definitely Tressler.”

The assertion in his voice surprised Dylan enough to give Merritt a second glance. “How do you know?” he asked.

“Because my brother was there, that’s how.”

Everyone in the van except Alma did a double take, staring at Merritt in shock. Alma didn’t say anything, but she gave Dylan a curious look. _His brother?_

“Your brother?” Dylan asked. Merritt nodded. “The psychotic twin that stole all your cash and joined the dark side with Tressler brother?”

“I only have one brother, Dylan.”

“Oh,” Alma said, understanding.

“His brother sucks,” Lula clarified for her.

“I um, I think I figured that out, but thank you Lula.”

“Why was he there?” Danny asked.

Merritt shrugged. “Knowing him, probably to freak me out,” he said. “But… I think it was mostly to get information. Or confirm what they thought we were going to do, at least. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan asked.

“He um…” Merritt coughed. “They know we’re headed to L.A. And they know about our plan to draw Tressler out with the show. He… figured it out.”

“Through you,” Atlas said bluntly. Merritt’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Alma blinked. “Your brother is a mentalist too,” she realized.

“Yep.”

He wouldn’t look anywhere but the road, and Dylan was getting worried.

“Merritt,” he began.

“Dylan, don’t try to tell me it wasn’t my fault, because it is,” he said before Dylan could get another word out. “And don’t try to tell me it’s fine, because it’s not, and we all know it’s not. That was our entire plan to put Tressler away. And I just fucked it all up because my stupid brother can still get inside my head, alright? It’s my fault. And now Tressler knows where we are and we don’t even have a plan to put him away.”

His voice didn’t crack or waver – Merritt was too good at hiding his emotions for that – but Dylan knew he was upset. So did everyone else. It seemed like everyone was going to have a turn for an emotional breakdown on this trip.

“Merritt,” Lula said quietly, “it’s still your stupid brother’s fault.”

“Yeah, he’s the one on the dark side, not you,” Jack added. Merritt cracked a smile.

“It’s not your fault, Merritt, you and your brother can literally read minds,” Henley said, sounding reasonable. She had crawled into the front seat earlier and reached over the middle, squeezing his shoulder. “Seriously, don’t beat yourself up because your brother is a dick.”

Merritt snorted. “Well, he is a dick.”

“Besides, they probably already figured it out,” Danny said, still lounging on Merritt’s stupid beach chair in the back of the van. “I mean, there’s only so many places we’d be headed traveling down I-40, right? And after Oglethorpe and the FBI, of course we’re going to try and take him down, it’s the only obvious conclusion to make. So really they were probably just using you to confirm their suspicions. He probably wouldn’t have made a move on our show anyway.”

Everyone stared at Atlas, and he lifted his head, confused.

“What?” he asked.

“Danny, I hate to break it to you, but you are literally the worst at this,” Henley said bluntly.

He gave her an outraged look. “I’m trying!”

“No, no, he did good,” Merritt said. “Instead of putting the blame on me for this situation, he just destroyed all our hopes of the great master plan ever working at all.”

Atlas opened his mouth, realized he was right, and shut it again. “Shit,” he muttered, letting his head fall back onto the chair. “Sorry, guys.”

“A for effort, Danny-boy,” Merritt said with a small smile. “Gold star.”

“Wait, wait, so…” Lula chewed her lip, glancing between everyone in the van. “Our plan is just… useless? We traveled all the way across the country for nothing?”

No one answered, but Merritt sighed and glanced towards Alma.

“Alma?” he asked. “Got any words of wisdom to help us out here?”

She stayed silent, her eyes dark, but Dylan could tell she was thinking. Her thumb rubbed against the back of his hand absent-mindedly while the gears in her mind turned.

“Well,” she sighed, “the FBI’s plan wasn’t very good to start with. Anyone could’ve seen it was a trap from… is it ‘a mile away,’ the American phrase?”

Dylan nodded, smiling slightly, and Alma continued.

“The show doesn’t need to be a trap anymore, but we still need to put it on. And Tressler will still follow us to L.A. and try to kidnap all of you, with or without the FBI there. Maybe the show won’t work as a trap, but something else will.” She smiled. “We can still beat him. We just have to wait for another opportunity to present itself.”

“Like what?” Danny asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered. “But when it comes, we’ll know it. And once we do, Arthur Tressler won’t stand a chance against the Horsemen.”

Everyone nodded, starting to smile, but then Merritt coughed and gave Alma a grin.

“You’re one of the Horsemen too, you know,” he said.

Alma stopped, everyone in the van looking at her, before a small smile crept onto her face with a blush. Her hand squeezed Dylan’s, smiling at the floor, and out of the corner of his eye he could’ve sworn her eyes were shining.


	23. Stargazing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it has been 20 days. since i last updated this. 20 days. I am so sorry.
> 
> but here it is, another chapter.  
> dylan/alma trash time  
> enjoy

“Can seriously none of you sleep?”

A chorus of ‘no’s came from the back of the van in varying degrees of frustration, and Dylan and Alma looked at each other, exasperated. It was eleven pm the day before they arrived in L.A.; everyone should’ve been asleep or at least _trying_ to get some rest. But every time Dylan would hear the van go quiet, someone would cough or groan or sigh in annoyance and he knew none of them were actually sleeping.

“I mean, Dylan,” Henley reasoned, “we were all just in a massive gunfight and almost got kidnapped by Tressler’s men.”

“And I had to see my brother,” Merritt added.

“Yes, and Merritt had to see his brother.” Henley sighed. “I don’t know about everyone else, but I can’t exactly sleep after something like that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Lula said, kicking the top of the van through her blanket.

“Plus, our show is tomorrow night,” Danny said.

“Which is exactly why you should be getting sleep,” Dylan countered.

“Yeah, but uh, it’s a little more difficult than you’re making it sound. It’s only our second show on an actual live stage, Dylan, _and_ it’s in L.A., _and_ the FBI will be there, _and_ we have to come up with a way to find Tressler now that he knows about it being a trap–”

“Okay, alright, I get it,” Dylan said. Atlas sure had a way of condensing everything down into the most stressful way possible, didn’t he?

He sighed heavily and stared out the windshield, wondering what to do. Usually, he pulled off to an exit once everyone fell asleep, but since no one had fallen asleep yet, he was still driving. It was dark out, they were in the middle of the desert on a two-lane highway, and as far as Dylan could see, they were pretty much the only people around.

He spared a glance at Alma, who was leaning with her elbow on the windowsill, staring up at the sky.

Dylan got an idea.

“Okay, you know what?” he said, easing the car into the right lane and slowing it down. “We’re stopping. Everyone’s getting out.”

“Wait, what?” Jack asked, sitting up.

“Just trust me, okay? If we can’t sleep, we might as well make the most of tonight.” He pulled off to the side of the highway, kicking up dust as the van’s tires hit the side of the road. Then he stopped and turned off the gas, telling Merritt to grab a few flashlights.

“Are we hunting for murder victims in the sand?” Lula asked, rolling out of bed.

Danny gave her a weird look. “Why is that the first thing you think of?” he asked.

“I dunno.”

“No, we’re not looking for dead bodies,” Dylan clarified, rolling his eyes. Alma laughed a little, and he smiled. “We’re stargazing.”

“What?” Jack smiled so wide Dylan thought his face would break in half. “Really?”

He nodded and got out of the van, everyone else following suit, taking some stuff out with them. Dylan grabbed one of their picnic blankets and a real blanket and brought them out to the side of the van facing the desert.

“Dylan, can we sit on the top of the van?” Lula asked, giving him puppy dog eyes. “Just me and Jack.”

“Alright, fine,” he said, too tired to argue. “Just don’t fall off.”

“We won’t!”

“And no one stray too far from the van! And _don’t_ walk into the highway!”

“We’re not idiots, Dylan,” Henley shouted, obviously setting up camp on the side of the van facing the highway. Danny and Merritt seemed to be joining her.

Dylan spread out the picnic blanket and noticed Alma hop out of the back of the van with a handful of snacks, wearing his hoodie with the sleeves rolled up. She turned to him and smiled.

“Sitting alone?” she asked.

“Not if you’d like to join me,” he said with a smirk. Alma rolled her eyes, but even in the dark he could tell she was still grinning a little. She walked over and sat down next to him, dumping the snacks in between them.

“What’d you get?” he asked, surveying the food. “Eugh, slim jims?”

“You don’t like slim jims?” she asked.

“They’re _nasty_ , I hate them.”

“Dylan just doesn’t appreciate the proper diet of a roadie,” Lula said from above them. She and Jack were peeking over the side of the van, heads tilted like little parrots, and Alma laughed.

“Guys, come on,” Dylan said, trying not to smile, “could you go bother Merritt or something? Please?”

“Aw, come on,” Jack said with a grin. “You know you love us.”

“Come on, Jack,” Lula said, pulling him up. She winked at Dylan before disappearing from view, and he could hear the older kids on the other side groan when Lula and Jack started annoying them.

Dylan shook his head and leaned back against the van, pretending to ignore Lula’s little wink.

_What the hell did that mean?_

“So,” Alma said, leaning back with a slim jim in one hand. Her arms were resting on her folded knees, looking up at the sky. “Stargazing.”

Dylan coughed, his face growing hot as he realized they were essentially alone. _Lula, you little shit._ “Yeah, stargazing.”

“Do you know any constellations?”

“Uh…” The answer was no, Dylan knew approximately zero constellations, and he suddenly felt like an idiot. _Great job, Dylan_ , he thought, _suggesting a pastime that you have no clue how to do. Smooth._

 “That’s a no,” Alma said with a smile, nudging him with her shoulder. “It’s alright. I only know one or two. I just think the stars are beautiful.”

“They certainly are that,” Dylan said. The empty space between them felt tense, almost charged, and every one of his nerves was on edge, wanting to both pull away and lean in closer.

 _The stars are definitely beautiful,_ he thought. _But so are you._

Alma paused for a moment before sighing, leaning her back against the van. “We could never see stars like this over Paris,” she murmured. “Too much light from the city. What is it, light pollution?”

Dylan nodded, watching Alma as she spoke. A few strands of hair had fallen into her face again, and her eyes were sad.

“We could really only see the stars when we visited my grandmother in the country,” she continued. “She had this huge villa out there, big enough for the whole family, and we’d go out there for holidays and vacations. I remember trying to memorize the constellations before we’d leave so I could point them all out to my family at night.”

Dylan smiled. “That sounds like you.”

“I always wanted to be the smart one,” Alma said, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “But it was usually just me up there. No one else wanted to stay up at night and look at the stars.”

The melancholy was back in her voice, and Dylan wished it wouldn’t be there. Alma was always so happy, so bright and full of life, and something pulled at his heart when he saw she wasn’t. He wondered why she was telling him this. She never got like this around the kids.

Then again, he never revealed parts of himself to the kids either. Maybe that’s what this was.

“Sorry, I’m…” Alma shook her head and smiled again, but the sadness in her eyes was still there. “The stars brought back memories, I guess.”

“It’s alright,” Dylan said softly, nudging her gently. “You don’t have to be happy all the time, you know.”

She stared at her knees and blinked, almost frozen, and Dylan panicked and thought he’d said something wrong. But before he could open his mouth, she sighed and leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, closing the space between them.

He wondered if she could hear his breath catch when she did it, or if she could tell how tense he’d gotten at first before slowly relaxing, lifting his arm and putting it around her shoulders. She leaned into his side and she squeezed her shoulder, his heart hammering in his chest.

 _You’re not twelve, Dylan_ , he thought. _Don’t get so excited_.

Not that the thought changed anything, but at least he was trying.

“You know, I…” Alma began, her voice soft, but she trailed off and shook her head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Dylan asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“Alma.” He tilted his head so their eyes could meet, and he gave her a small smile. “Come on. You can tell me, it’s fine.”

She sighed and leaned back into him, staring out at the darkened desert. “I’m… it’s…” A pause, a heavy one that made Dylan’s thoughts spin. What was she trying to say? Was she admitting something personal? Something… bad?

“I um…” Another sigh, and Dylan squeezed her shoulder, telling her without speaking it was alright. “I… When I was younger, I wanted to be a part of the Eye.”

Dylan blinked, surprised, but he didn’t say anything. Alma was still talking.

“I really did,” she continued, the words spilling out like she’d been wanting to say them for ages. “And I still do, actually. I just… My parents were part of the Judicial Police, and they didn’t want me–”

“Joining a magician’s cult full of vigilante thieves,” he finished. She nodded.

“They were right, of course, I… They didn’t want me becoming a criminal. But the Eye isn’t _evil_ , it’s, it’s just, they seek the same kind of justice that anyone else does. They just don’t do it legally. And…”

She sighed again, the sound heavy in her chest. “My parents… didn’t like me fixating on the Eye. They didn’t let me practice magic, I wasn’t even allowed to have cards. And when everyone told me to join the Judicial Police like them, I… I just did. It was the only thing I could do at that point. They didn’t give me a choice.

“And I convinced myself it was for the best. I was never able to become good at magic, whenever I had the chance to practice, and being a criminal or in a cult aren’t exactly good career options, and… I told myself studying them would be fine. That was all I needed to do. But now, I’m, now I’m…”

She sucked in some air, her breath shaking, and Dylan pressed her as close to him as he could. Alma had said the whole thing softly, quiet enough for only Dylan to hear over the kids laughing in the background. The desert was still dark, and he was finally starting to feel the chill in the night air.

“I’m sorry,” Alma said, shaking her head and pulling away, “I didn’t – this wasn’t supposed to be like this, I didn’t mean to–”

“Alma.”

Dylan sat up and gently grabbed her arm, staring her right in the eye with as much understanding as he could. Alma’s eyes would barely meet his, but when they did, they were embarrassed and afraid and guilty all at once. It reminded him of the kids, their breakdowns and vulnerabilities, the way they’d only reveal this part of themselves if they really and truly trusted him.

Alma hadn’t been as hurt and confused as the Horsemen when she first climbed in the van, but she was now. And she had no idea what to do.

But she’d trusted Dylan enough to share this, and that alone meant he had to help her.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, giving her a smile. He could feel her shaking slightly, but whether it was from cold or something else he couldn’t tell. “I understand. Trust me, I do. It’s not your fault, none of that is your fault.”

“But it _is_ , it is,” Alma said, shaking her head. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “If I’d been braver, I’d… And, this isn’t even bad, my parents are good people. They care about me and love me and I was just… too scared to disappoint them. But now it’s too late, and…”

“Alma, listen to me,” Dylan said softly, shifting down so she’d have to look at his face. Her eyes were watery, and his heart felt like it was being ripped in two. “Don’t compare your problems to someone else’s. Just because this didn’t give you a mental disorder doesn’t mean it’s not real, or valid, or that you’re a lesser person for getting hurt by this. We all get hurt by things we can’t control. We all regret decisions we’ve made and things we wish we’d done. But you, you’re strong, and capable, and you can do whatever the hell you want. They don’t control you anymore. And neither does anyone else.”

Alma stayed silent, blinking a tear down onto the picnic blanket beneath them, before a small smile spread across her face.

“Thank you, Dylan,” she whispered.

She leaned forward and hugged him, pressing her head onto his shoulder, and Dylan hugged back, wishing he could do more. He wanted to show her how much he cared, how much he’d give for her to never be unhappy again, how much he loved her stories and her laughter and her gifts and just _her_ , god he loved her. And for the first time, Dylan was starting to think that Alma actually loved him back.

They pulled a little apart just so Alma could shift and leaned back against the van, staring out at the desert and just breathing in the air. The kids were still chattering and laughing in the background, a car speeding past on the highway every once in a while. The bugs and lizards croaked and buzzed in the desert. They could see the wind toss dust in front of the stars.

But Dylan and Alma were silent, staring out into the night, holding hands and arms and each other and just listening to it all. Alma squeezed his hand, and something in him cracked. She’d told him her story; it was only right he told her his.

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, so he shut it again. Alma squeezed his hand again, rubbing the back of it with her calloused thumb. _It’s okay_ , it said. _It’s okay._

He opened his mouth and tried again. This time, it worked.

“My father was Lionel Shrike.”

Alma tensed next to him, surprised, but she kept her gaze on the desert, knowing he wasn’t finished. He could practically see the millions of thoughts going through her head, the connections, the little dropped hints, the _why didn’t I realize this before_ moment. But he didn’t want her to get ahead of him and assume. He kept talking.

“I… My dad raised me surrounded by magic,” he said, quietly enough for only Alma to hear. “He taught me tricks, helped me learn new ones. I got to use his props and got my own deck of cards, and everything he did was encouraging and helpful and… he was the best damn dad a kid like me could ask for. The best damn husband too. At least… until…

“Thaddeus Bradley, he… on his first debut, he exposed all my dad’s tricks. Completely debunked him, ruined everything. We started losing money, we went into debt, my parents started fighting, and I was just a ten-year-old boy that didn’t know what to do. Kids at school started bullying me. People on the street would sneer as we passed by, like we were too below their standing to actually give a shit about.

“My dad, he… I’m sure you know. He tried to gain back his fame with the safe trick, lock himself in and escape from the bottom of the Hudson. My mom didn’t come watch, but I did. And when he didn’t come back out, I sat there on the riverbank in the freezing cold, totally alone. No one even tried to help me.

“You’d think that’d make people’s consciences ache a little, but it didn’t. My mom’s family had disowned her when she married my dad, thinking she’d married a good-for-nothing magician, and they didn’t help us at all. The neighbors would say things about us behind our backs, like how it was our own fault for believing in a magician, and now we were in debt with barely enough money to eat and pay rent and nothing was ever going to change. And… I started believing them, you know? That it was our fault. If I’d told him not to get in the safe, if my mom had been more supportive after Bradley exposed him, if we’d worked harder and better and done _something_ then, then maybe…

“My mom told me to keep practicing magic, even if people tried to knock it out of me. And they did, oh Jesus they did. I remember in ninth and tenth grade, I’d come home bruised and bloody so often my mom wouldn’t even react, she’d just give me an ice pack and some band-aids and tell me to be ready by dinner. But I kept practicing. I did magic and excelled at school and worked as many jobs as I could to get extra money. My mom had to work two jobs and she was barely ever home. I was raising myself by the time I was twelve.

“We barely had enough to eat. We were in debt constantly, always behind on rent, always losing power or water because we hadn’t been able to pay the bills. My mom had to sell her jewelry when I was in eighth grade. We sold my dad’s stuff even earlier, most of it going to a pawnshop in Manhattan. That’s… probably where you found the book. It… it was my dad’s. Funny how fate works that way, isn’t it?

“When… when people found out, about us – us barely getting by, a few of them got on Bradley’s case, told him he should give us money for putting us into such a horrible position. They made a whole TV special for it and everything. But at the end of the day, when they’d taken five million from Bradley’s pocket and made a huge commotion about giving it all to us, we got none of it. People lost interest, thinking we were living a better life now. The people who knew us thought we’d done it for attention and didn’t deserve the handouts. And now, Bradley had a personal excuse to hate us, all because some selfish assholes decided to faux Robin Hood themselves into five million dollars.

“When I was fifteen, we…” His voice broke. “We found out my mom… She had cancer. It was like the damn world couldn’t give us a break. We didn’t have enough money to pay for treatment, and she wanted me to be able to go to college, so she just… didn’t let herself get better. And I could see it in her face, every day. The world was trying to kill her. And with her gone, I’d have no one.

“She was so happy when I got into college. Cornell, full ride. I got to stay nearby and she got to keep the money we’d saved. It was the one good thing that happened to us, because I’d worked my ass off and gotten myself in.

“When…” Dylan sighed, his voice shaking and brittle, and Alma squeezed his hand, reminding him she was there. “When, when I was nineteen, she… I didn’t even _know_ until a few days later, when the neighbors noticed the smell, I was off at college and I got a call and…

“Jesus, Alma, that’s not how you should find out your mother died.

“We didn’t… I didn’t have enough money for a funeral, so I had her cremated. Poured her ashes into the Hudson so she could be with dad. Her parents didn’t even come down to give condolences. I didn’t have any friends or family then, and…

“No one ever helped me, no one ever cared. I was alone and I didn’t – I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my parents. They were just… _gone_. And I couldn’t bring them back.

“The Eye contacted me after I graduated college and asked me to join. They knew who I really was, who my father was. I’d… well, I’d started going by Rhodes in high school – it was my mother’s maiden name, and it felt kind of fitting, I guess. I had to hide my magic then, hide who I really was. My dad was the magic side of me, my mom was the normal side. All my transcripts, my information, all of it said Rhodes. The only people who remembered my real name were some neighbors and the Eye. Figured I should keep it that way.

“I joined the Eye and learned about Tressler, learned he ran the insurance company that denied my mom’s claims. I asked them if I could take him down, if I could take everyone that had wronged my family down, and they said yes. It was better for me to do it, like… closing the circle. And I was still so _angry_ , even after all those years I was still angry and alone and I just wanted to drag them down with me.

“They pulled strings to get me into the FBI and I _excelled_. I actually enjoyed it, working there, doing the right thing and getting the bad guys. I met Fuller and the boss and people who actually cared about me – well, as much as they could care about me without knowing who I really was. And I was so ready to destroy Tressler and Bradley, so ready to use my new position to put them away forever, that… I don’t know. I had every detail planned out, everything picture perfect and ready to go.

“And then, out of the blue, the Eye asks me to quit my steady, honest job at the FBI, grab a bunch of kids, and cart them around the country for a year to keep them safe from Tressler. And I didn’t understand why, and really I still don’t. I was so close to nabbing Tressler, so close to starting my plan, and they just go and make me drop everything. At the time I was bitter, especially towards the kids. We didn’t get along the first two weeks, it was… well. Anyway.

“And then I… I don’t know. I realized they were alone like me, they loved magic like me, and no one had ever helped them or cared before and I just… _did_. I could be myself around them, in a way I hadn’t been able to for years, and once I helped them they… Those kids are my life, Alma. I don’t know what I’d do without them. I don’t know who I’d _be_ without them.

“And now, we’re on our way to finally get Tressler, coming full circle, and god Alma I’m _so scared_ I’m going to lose them, I…”

His voice cracked and he stopped, afraid he was going to cry, and then Alma hugged him tight and he really _did_ cry, shaking and scared like a baby. He didn’t want Alma to see him like this – he didn’t want _anyone_ to see him like this. This was stuff he’d never told anyone, things he’d kept locked away for far too long, and now he was letting it all out and god he couldn’t control himself at all. He felt like a ten-year-old boy trying to save the world, scared and alone and with no one to guide him. Everything hurt; his mother, his father, the Eye, _everything_. And he was so scared of doing the wrong thing for these kids – he always had been – and he’d never been able to tell anyone.

But Alma was still here, hugging him tight and telling him it was okay, and Dylan knew he wasn’t alone. None of them were, not anymore.

“Dylan,” Alma whispered, pulling away. “It’s okay to be afraid. None of us really know what we’re doing.”

“I should,” he answered, staring at his knees. “I’ve been doing this for a lot longer than any of them. And the Eye chose me to do this. They chose me to help these kids, and I don’t… Why would they do that? Of everyone they could’ve chosen, why me?”

He’d wanted to ask that for so long, asking Bu Bu whenever he got the chance and never getting a straight answer. Dylan still didn’t understand why they’d asked him to do this. He was just as bad as these kids were, maybe even worse. How could he protect them like that?

“Dylan,” Alma said, giving him a smile that reminded him of Bu Bu. Knowing and wise, and just a little sad. “You have more in common with these kids than anyone in the world. They didn’t choose you just so you could protect them; they chose you because you could _understand_ them. The Horsemen are kids, Dylan, and kids need someone to help them, even if they don’t think they do.”

He knew that was true, but it didn’t stop him from blurting out, “No one ever helped me.”

Alma squeezed his hands, and Dylan was caught in the beauty of her smile. “Well, now is your chance to help them.”

He smiled then, actually smiled in spite of everything – she was right. Dylan needed those kids just as much as they needed him. How could he not have seen it earlier?

He and Alma leaned back against the van, still wrapped up in each other’s arms. For a moment he considered kissing her, just get that out of the way too, but… he didn’t want to ruin this. And besides, there was always the risk that she wouldn’t return it. There was always that risk. And Dylan wasn’t brave enough to try.

But he was still just happy with this, to lean against the van in silence with Alma in his arms, staring out at the desert as the crickets lulled them to sleep. He looked up at the stars and couldn’t help but smile. They were beautiful.

But by god, so was she.

So was she.

* * *

“Do you think they’re asleep yet?” Lula whispered, her leg bouncing as she sat cross-legged on the blankets. “I bet they are. They stopped talking a little while ago. Who wants to check?”

“Could you just let them be, you little twerp?” Merritt said with a grin, rubbing Lula’s head. “Don’t rush this, they’re having a bonding moment.”

“About damn time, too,” Henley muttered, smiling. “Seriously though, they stopped talking. I think they’re asleep.”

“What do you think they were talking about?” Lula asked.

“Their deepest, darkest secrets that they’d never tell anybody,” Henley said, poking Lula’s sides. She giggled and tried to twist away, but Henley pulled her into her arms and tickled her, Lula trying to stay quiet and failing horribly.

“Stop, I’m gonna wake them up!” she laughed, squirming. Henley let up and hugged her close, shaking her head.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said.

“I bet they finally figured out they’re in _looooove_ ,” Lula said, grinning wide. “I hope they did, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Eh, not quite yet,” Merritt said knowingly. “But soon.”

“I heard them talking about the Eye,” Danny muttered, staring at the ground. Henley spared him a glance, worried that he hadn’t said a word this whole time, but Jack popped his head around the back of the van before she could say anything.

“They’re asleep, and it’s adorable,” he whispered with a smile. “Come on!”

The five of them all scrambled up and crept over to the other side of the van, trying to stay silent as sand got into their sneakers. When she caught sight of them, Henley could barely believe her eyes.

Alma’s head was resting on Dylan’s shoulder, Dylan’s head resting on Alma’s, and both of them were fast asleep, looking more peaceful than Henley had ever seen them. There was a blanket draped over their legs and their arms were wrapped around each other, like they’d fallen asleep hugging.

Henley knew she wasn’t the only one who thought this was adorable when Lula squealed into her hands.

“This is so cute this is so cute this is so _cute_ ,” Lula said, hugging Jack and jumping up and down. Jack just shook his head and smiled, not saying a word. “I can’t believe this, this is amazing, they’re so in love oh my god–”

“Hey, why don’t we take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Merritt said, pulling out his phone. He turned it on and aimed the camera at the two of them before hitting the button at the bottom of the screen.

A huge flash of light came out of the phone, and the Henley heard Jack whisper, _shit_.

Dylan and Alma groaned, starting to wake up, and the kids all squealed softly and ran back to the other side of the van, pretending to not have moved for the past two and a half hours. But Dylan and Alma didn’t get up and investigate. If anything, they probably just went back to sleep.

Merritt sent all of them the photo and Henley saved it onto her phone, smiling as she looked at it. After tomorrow, they really had no idea what would happen to them, what with the FBI, Tressler, the Eye, and everything else. But at least they had this. At least Dylan and Alma had each other.

At least the Horsemen had them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for being patient with me guys, i've been going through a lot of stuff these past few weeks and didn't have time to write. senior year is hell, let me just say. but you guys have stuck around and kept reading, and i honestly couldn't be more grateful.
> 
> there IS more to come, trust me. how fast i can get it out is the issue, but i will.
> 
> thanks guys


	24. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been 84 years... since i last posted... an update... i am s o s o r r y  
> (but hey senior year right. just fuck me up)
> 
> anyway welcome to hell. it's nanowrimo so who knows, we may actually be getting consistent updates this month. don't say i didn't warn you.
> 
> enjoy >:P

The next morning, the Horsemen van pulled into a gas station a few miles from the Arizona-California border, and Danny slipped away into town to find a payphone.

He wasn’t surprised no one saw him go – they were all so busy with each other they never had time for him. That’s how it always was. And he’d been able to ignore it thus far, figuring it would pass or that he was overreacting as per usual, but… Well, Danny didn’t like being ignored. He’d dealt with it his whole life. And maybe this stuff would clear up once Alma was gone, but until then, it was pretty unpleasant

Honestly though, it wasn’t just being ignored that was the problem – it was the romance. It reminded Danny that Henley had stuck him square in the friend zone, which was a dick thing to say, granted, but that didn’t deny it was true. And he was fine being friends, but he wanted more and was never going to get it. Yet everyone else around him was.

He’d been rubbing the business card in his pocket since they set out from Oglethorpe a week ago. Danny figured it might be time to make a call.

There was a payphone tucked at the edge of town, old and rusty but still somehow operational, and Danny slipped in a quarter and dialed the number. It rang twice before picking up.

“Um…” One word and Danny could still hear the British accent. He smiled. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Hey Walter,” he said. “It’s Danny.”

“Danny?” Walter paused, and Danny imagined he was smiling. “Oh, wow! Hello! I thought you’d lost my card. How are you?”

“I’m uh, fine, actually, thanks for asking.” He hadn’t been asked that in a while. “I uh, actually I was calling… The troupe is heading to L.A., figured I should tell you. We’re putting on a show in the, um, the Geffen Playhouse Theater. It’s apparently right by Beverly Hills, so, you know. It’d be nice if you could drum up some publicity for us, get us a few extra ticket sales.”

He figured, since Tressler already knew about the show being a trap, it’d be fine to use the show for it’s original intention – making money. And it was easier to start out talking business for Danny. Easier than… well.

Walter was silent for a moment, and Danny started to panic. He’d messed it up again, hadn’t he? God damn it, he could never get things like this right.

And then:

“Is that the only reason you called me?” Walter asked. “Publicity?”

It took Danny a second to say what he wanted to, and even then, it came out small, almost pathetic. Not the way Danny intended.

“No.”

Walter actually laughed at that – a nice laugh, not like he was making fun of him. Maybe he was doing something right.

“Well,” Walter said, his voice cheerful, “Maybe I could throw a party after the show, open only to people who’ve seen the amazing Horsemen. That’ll get people to come. And your troupe is invited, of course. Actually have some fun outside of doing magic for once, right?”

“Yeah, right.” It came out like a nervous laugh – god, Danny needed to work on his social skills.

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” Walter paused. “I can’t wait to see you guys again, I’m honestly one of your biggest fans.”

“All of us?” Danny asked, not really sure what he was asking.

“Oh,” Walter said, like he was teasing. “Maybe just you.”

He hung up before Danny could reply, leaving him holding a payphone in the middle of the desert with a stomach twisted like knots.

* * *

_Does it count as a date if everyone’s invited?_

Danny had been mulling over his conversation with Walter for the past five hours as Dylan drove them through the Arizona desert, nothing to see but sand and asphalt and the occasional cactus for three hundred miles. Everyone else was busy doing their own things; Dylan and Alma were chatting, Jack and Lula were playing an obscenely dishonest game of poker, Merritt was reading a magazine from the gas station, and Henley was on her laptop with her headphones on. No one was paying attention to Danny. Of course they weren’t. Why had he ever thought they would?

 _Cut it out, not everything can be about you,_ he thought. That was Henley talking though, not him. Daniel Atlas wanted everything to be about him. And why shouldn’t it be? He was one of the greatest magicians his age, he deserved a little attention and respect.

 _Unless you aren’t_ , he thought. _Unless everyone in this van is just putting up with you because they feel like they need to._

But Dylan wouldn’t have recruited him for the Eye if he didn’t think he had potential, right? He wouldn’t have brought him in unless he was really worth something, worth more than anyone ever thought.

_Or maybe you’re just kidding yourself. Maybe everyone hates you, always have, always will. And why shouldn’t they? You’re a self-centered prick, Atlas. You deserve all the love you get. Which in this case is none._

“Shut up,” he muttered to himself, staring out at the desert. He never realized how irritating the sunlight could be. “Shut up, shut up, _shut up_ –”

“Atlas?”

Danny looked up and saw Dylan staring at him in the rearview mirror, his brows furrowed in concern.

“You okay?” he asked.

Danny nodded and forced his mouth into a smile. “Yeah, fine,” he said. He could feel his face twitching. “Don’t worry about it.”

He looked back out the window, knowing full well Dylan’s eyes were still on him in the mirror, but at this point he didn’t care. Dylan always thought he knew everything – he thought he could see right through everyone and help them, like they were all sob stories and basket cases waiting to be fixed. As if he understood anything. He’d dragged them on an unending van ride for over a year and as far as he could tell, they were still no closer to actually meeting the Eye. If anything, they were closer to the very thing they were running away from. Heading straight for it, as a matter of fact. Great idea. Using kids as bait to catch a dangerous man with a magician vendetta. And the Eye had no qualms about this – otherwise they would’ve stopped it already.

 _They don’t care about us,_ Danny thought. _Maybe they never did. Maybe Dylan doesn’t either. Why should he be calling the shots anyway? It’s not like he leads the Eye._

He huffed through his nose, staring out at the passing sand with the sun nearly blinding his eyes. Danny’s hand found its way to his pocket, and he rubbed the business card there out of habit.

 _He asked me to a party,_ he thought, smiling. _That counts for something, right?_

At least he had Walter, even if he’d only met the guy once and might never see him again. One person in this world liked him, right? One person, at least. His parents never really did. And now that everyone was pairing off in this big happy family of theirs… it was about time Danny did too. He deserved it.

He sighed again and lifted his hand out of his pocket, crossing his arms over his chest. Maybe he’d tell everyone about the after party when they got to L.A. They’d probably be more receptive about it then. Even if they were there to put on a show and catch a criminal, it wasn’t a crime to have a little fun while doing it. They were magicians, after all – fun was part of the job. And it’s not like a little party would put any of them in danger, right?

Danny pulled out a deck of cards and started shuffling, focusing on the feel of the cards under his fingers to distract him from his thoughts. Another cactus whizzed by in the window, and he wondered for the eighth time how long it’d take to reach L.A.

 _Long enough to have too much time to think_ , he realized.

* * *

When they reached the city limits of L.A. at around 6 pm that evening, everyone in the van cheered, including Dylan – finally, an end to the endless driving he’d been doing for the past week. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being stuck in a van for ten hours with a bunch of kids, it was… okay, he kind of despised it. Then again, everyone else probably did too, so it wasn’t that bad. It didn’t matter how close you were to people – something about getting stuck in a small metal container for hours on end just tended to bring out the most irritating parts of a person, intended or not. From what Dylan could tell, everyone in the van was glad the cross-country trek was finally over.

The theater said they had hotel rooms nearby reserved for the Horsemen, and it took Dylan until 6:30 to find it. But once they were parked, everyone hauled their stuff up to their rooms and got settled in the hotel. It was nice to lie on an actual bed for once, instead of a car seat. And it was nice to just relax for a while.

But some of the kids didn’t seem so relaxed. Most of them, actually. Dylan figured they were just nervous for the show – or in Henley’s case, her parents.

“I don’t like L.A.,” Jack said, sitting on Dylan’s bed. The boys were sharing one room, and the girls shared the connecting room. “It’s too spread out.”

Dylan nodded, understanding. In New York, everything was organized and compact, set into a grid and easy to understand. Especially if you’d grown up in the city like he and Jack had. But Los Angeles was spread out and disorganized and unknown territory. Neither of them was very comfortable.

“I don’t like it either,” he said, sitting up. Jack was flipping a coin across his fingers nervously, looking like he wanted to shrink up and disappear. “But we’ll only be here for a little while, right? Once the show is over and we come up with a plan to snag Tressler.”

“How are we supposed to do that without a show?” Jack asked.

“Maybe we just don’t,” Danny muttered.

Dylan looked up; Danny was sitting sideways on the couch across from them, legs bent near his chest, shuffling a deck of cards and staring at the wall. He wouldn’t even look at them, like he was still thinking about what he’d just said and what to say after.

It was just the three of them – Merritt and the girls were in the other room, teasing each other and chatting excitedly. Dylan could hear Alma’s warm laugh through the cracked doors, Lula’s excited squealing, Merritt and Henley sassing each other. The boys’ room felt ten degrees colder. Jack was frozen like a statue.

Dylan knew the look on Danny’s face, and it scared him. It was the same look he wore whenever he talked about his parents.

“What do you mean?” Jack asked, confused. He glanced between Dylan and Danny nervously, the coin he was flipping pressed between his forefinger and his thumb. “Danny?”

He didn’t respond, just kept shuffling the cards, his face hard as stone.

“Atlas,” Dylan said. “What’s going on?”

Danny stopped shuffling his cards, and Dylan almost wished he hadn’t. Because now there was a fire in his eyes that Dylan knew wasn’t going away any time soon, and somehow, it was his fault.

“Why do we have to worry about Tressler?” Danny asked, his fingers twitching. “Huh? Why us?”

“We…” Dylan’s voice stopped; he swallowed and tried again. “It’s not our fault. He’s coming after us, and we’re fighting back.”

“How?” Danny turned his body towards Dylan and Jack, his eyes full of rage. “H-how, exactly, are we fighting back? Because right now it just feels like the FBI is using us as bait and no one else seems to have a problem with that.”

“It’s the only way to get Tressler,” Jack said, his voice unsure.

“But is it? Is it seriously the only way to draw him out? By putting ourselves on a platter for him to sample whenever he wants?” Danny shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his mouth. “B-because… because that, that doesn’t seem like the kind of thing people who care about us would do. And you know, that’s hilarious. For once I thought I’d actually found people who cared about us, about–” He paused, swallowed. Shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. We don’t have a plan, we barely have back up, and Tressler’s on his way right now to do whatever it is he plans to do. And all we have going for us are a show and a party and–”

“A party?” Dylan gave Danny a look, and his eyes widened and glanced away. “Atlas, what party? What are you talking about?”

“N-nothing, it doesn’t matter, I–”

“The hell it does! Was that where you were this morning when we couldn’t find you? Calling someone to set up a party? Who were you talking to? We’re trying to catch a _criminal_ here, Atlas–”

“Yeah? Well maybe we shouldn’t be!” Danny yelled. The voices in the girls’ room fell silent. “Maybe we should be looking out for ourselves instead of trying to grab some multi-billionaire who wants us kidnapped!”

“We don’t have a choice!” Dylan yelled. “Remember? The FBI was pretty clear what would happen if we didn’t help them out–”

“Yeah? And why hasn’t the Eye come and bailed us out then? If they need us so bad, why haven’t the scooped us up off the streets before any of this happened?”

Dylan fell silent, not sure what to say, and Danny just shook his head.

“You trust them so much, Dylan. You think you know everything, you think you understand all of us and you _don’t_. The Eye has been lying to us this whole time! They’ve been keeping us on the streets, trying to draw out Tressler so they could finally get rid of him once and for all. They’ve been using us this whole time just like the FBI is using us now! Don’t you see? They don’t _care_ about us! They never have and they probably never will! The people who were supposed to keep us safe have kept us in danger just so we get stuck cleaning up after their mess, and we’re just kids so all we can do is sit there and _take it_. And I’m sick of it, okay? I’m _sick of it_! No one here actually cares about us, no one! We’re misfits and runaways and thieves and the only people who’ll take us in are people who’d use us the second they get a chance! We’re props to them, Dylan! Do you ever think they actually cared about any of us? About you?”

The words cut deeper than Dylan cared to admit, and for once, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Danny just shook his head and stood up, starting to shuffle the cards again, his hands shaking. Dylan could see the girls and Merritt in the other room, standing close to the door and watching the scene unfold. Jack was frozen next to his side.

“I-I made a phone call,” Danny said, pacing in front of Dylan. It sounded like he was forcing the words out. “This morning, in New Mexico, okay? I did. I called Walter Mabry because he gave me his card at Oglethorpe and seemed interested in me and everyone else was pairing off so I figured why shouldn’t I, right? And I told him about the show and he offered to throw a party to help drum up ticket sales and we’re all invited. That’s it. That’s the party.

“I just, I…” He exhaled shakily, and Dylan had a thousand things to say but no way to say them. “We aren’t FBI agents, Dylan. We’re barely in the Eye. And… and we deserve a little fun every once in a while, even if we’re trying to catch criminals. Maybe especially so. We have a show, and we have a party, and those are the two most normal things to happen to us ever since you picked us all up last January. And… I figured, it couldn’t hurt. We deserve to be happy.”

He hadn’t met his eyes once after he got up, slowly inching backwards towards the door, and Dylan was worried he’d bolt. But before he could say anything, Danny cleared his throat and shook his head, staring at the ground.

“I-it… it doesn’t matter. I…” He lifted his head and caught sight of everyone watching him, their expressions a mixture of hurt and sadness, and Dylan saw something in him snap. J. Daniel Atlas loved to be the center of attention, but not this time. Not like this.

His fingers twitched the wrong way, and the cards he’d been shuffling flew out of his hands, scattering on the hotel room carpet like seeds. He shook his head and backed up to the door.

“Danny,” Dylan said, but Atlas wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was afraid he never would again.

Danny slipped out into the hall before anyone else could say a word, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence filled the hotel room.

What… what had Dylan just done?

For a good few seconds, everyone remained frozen and still, barely even breathing, like their voices were caught in their throats. But eventually, Henley sighed, digging the heel of her shoe into the ground.

“He doesn’t know his way around,” she said. Everyone looked at her, and she coughed. “I’ll follow him. Make sure he comes back.”

Her eyes met Dylan’s, and he nodded. He needed Danny to be safe after that. But he knew going after him was a bad idea – Henley was closer, and she knew the city. And… she was the only one in the room still able to think after what Atlas had said.

_The Eye has been lying to us this whole time._

Dylan didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t. Atlas was wrong. The Eye was the one thing Dylan was sure he _could_ believe in.

But the problem was… it made sense.

He coughed to clear his throat, just as Henley had her hand on the doorknob. Everyone turned to him, and he met their eyes individually, wanting them all to know he cared.

He hadn’t realized how little attention he’d been paying to Danny these past few days. This was his fault.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, not sure if he believed it. “We’ll be fine. We still have a show, and now we have a party. Okay? We’ll be okay.”

“What about Tressler?” Lula asked, her voice small.

Dylan met Alma’s eyes, and she understood without words.

“We’ll work that out,” he said.

Everyone nodded, silently filtering away. Henley left to find Danny, and soon Merritt, Jack, and Lula left after her, Merritt making up an excuse to go check out the supposedly endless buffet downstairs and asking the kids to come sneak food out for him. That left him and Alma, who sat down next to him on the bed, on the opposite side from where Jack had been.

“You okay?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You?”

“I’m not in the Eye, Dylan.” She reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it to remind him she was there. “He’ll be okay.”

Dylan shook his head again. “He’s angry and scared, and I forgot to ask him what was wrong,” he said. “I… he’s been like this since Oglethorpe, and I meant to ask him about it, but I got distracted, and…”

He sighed. “I was afraid this would happen. I can’t… These kids, they, they deserve someone better than me. Someone who pays attention to them, I just–”

“Dylan,” Alma said, her voice soft. He stared at their hands, clasped together in his lap. “You aren’t perfect.”

He swallowed. “I should be.”

They stayed silent for a minute afterwards, both stewing in their own thoughts. Alma was right – he couldn’t be perfect. But he could’ve at least been what he needed to be. He’d been so distracted by Alma and Tressler and the FBI that he’d forgotten what he was really supposed to be focused on; his kids. And now… now he was afraid he’d lose them too.

A thought occurred to him suddenly, cutting through the haze of self-pity in his mind, and Dylan blinked.

“Alma?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Can you… ask the FBI to do a check on Walter Mabry?”

Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head, trying to figure out his angle. “Why?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I…” He sighed. “It’s probably nothing, but… I have a hunch.”

She watched him steadily, the cogs in her mind turning, eventually nodding and getting up to call the FBI. Maybe she’d tried to make the same connections Dylan was, or maybe she’d thought of something else entirely. But she was making the call, and that’s all that mattered. Dylan’s hunch was built off information he’d learned three years ago, but the more he thought about it, the stronger that hunch seemed to grow.

He didn’t want to call the Eye, because that risked realizing everything Danny said was true. He didn’t want to believe that. He couldn’t. But he could do this, at least, with Alma’s help. They might be able to do something.

Maybe, with luck, their plans could be salvaged after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1P526n6wfP4


	25. An Impeccable Knack for Ruined Childhoods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaAAAAHHH okay first of all: thank you SO MUCH for the amazing comments!!!! I love all of you and I'm so happy y'all are still reading my fic, seriously, you don't know how much it means to me. I swore to myself I wouldn't let this thing flop no matter how late I got back to it, and all of you are still here, reading away. It means a lot.
> 
> But now, for what y'all are really waiting for. Another chapter of NYSM trash
> 
> enjoy <3

Henley hadn’t been in L.A. in over a year, but she still knew this part of the city like the back of her hand. And she knew Danny did too – they’d spent hours going over maps of the city before she left, finding places to hang out, places to hide, stuff like that. Magic shops were also on the list. She remembered sitting on the floor of her room and circling a shop in black sharpie, both of them agreeing to meet there if Danny ever came to L.A.

He never did. Too busy putting on shows and charming other girls, though he never had enough money to take a trip to L.A. anyway. But he barely even talked to her after that, like she wasn’t an important part of his life anymore. Like he didn’t care.

It’d taken Henley a while to get over that, but she’d moved on. Realized she didn’t need Danny to be happy, that she could be happy all on her own. But she still cared about him, deep down, no matter how obnoxious and self-centered and smug he could be. She always would. He was the first person who treated her gifts for magic as gifts, not something to be ashamed of. And she was the first to appreciate him at all.

Problem was, Danny had never gotten over her. She’d realized it the moment he saw her face last year, when everyone had met under the Lionel Shrike tree with tarot cards in their hands, and she’d been skirting around the issue ever since.

She had a feeling Danny’s outburst wasn’t just about the Eye, though the points he brought up were pretty compelling. His face any time Dylan and Alma talked, the way he scowled when she talked to Merritt or when Jack and Lula pulled off a prank…

Henley rounded a corner and there he was, J. Daniel Atlas himself, standing on the sidewalk in front of the Magic and More magic shop. It looked less like a store and more like a suburban house, but then again, most places in this part of L.A. looked like that. The sun had already started to set, turning the sky pink and orange, but Danny was staring right at the shop, his face twisted like he was trying not to cry.

Something in Henley ached, and she walked up to him, standing next to him without a word. He sighed, keeping his hands in his pockets. A sports car flew by on the street behind them, and Henley listened to it roar down the road until it was out of earshot, waiting for Danny to say something.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” was the first thing out of his mouth.

Henley smiled and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You sure?”

“Yeah I… I don’t know.” He shook his head, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “I just… I’ve been thinking, about the Eye and everything, a-and I’ve been so upset lately it just came out and…” He sighed. “The sad part is it makes perfect sense. Of course they’d use us as bait, of course. We’re easy targets. It’s like dangling money in front of Tressler’s nose, and with the FBI involved, he’d be gone. But, it’s not… it’s not fair to us, and of course why would they care, but it’s not. We didn’t ask to be their puppets, or their props or their assistants or–”

“We didn’t ask to be on Tressler’s most wanted list either,” Henley reminded him. “And maybe they _are_ using us, but that doesn’t mean Dylan is. Or Alma. That doesn’t mean…”

Danny finally looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Doesn’t mean what?” he asked. “That they don’t care about is?”

Henley sighed, realizing just how close to home this subject was reaching. None of the Horsemen had families they wanted to go back to, families that loved and accepted them no matter what. That’s what a family was supposed to be. It’s what Henley and Danny had craved and tried to find in each other back when they did their first magic shows, and it’s what they’d been trying to find in the Horsemen since they were all brought together. But Danny’s words had shattered that; not just for him, but for everyone. He’d never had a lot of faith to begin with. Neither had Henley, really.

But she trusted her instincts. That was the one thing she knew she could rely on.

“Danny,” she said, “it’s been a year. Dylan’s stuck with us through everything, every danger and nightmare and nervous breakdown we’ve had. For all of us, including you. You really think he doesn’t care about us?”

He jutted his jaw out and looked away, shoulders tense. “It could be an act,” he muttered.

“But it’s not, and you know it.” She stared at him, right at him, knowing once he caught her eye he wouldn’t be able to look away. “Maybe the Eye is total shit and doesn’t care about us as people, but Dylan does. He always has. Even if he doesn’t realize it himself. And we care about him.”

Danny stayed silent for a moment, but Henley could see his mind working, eyes avoiding hers by staring at the pavement.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” he said quietly.

She smiled. “He’ll be fine,” she replied. “Everyone’ll be.”

“I… I was just… I-it made me so angry, everything, and…” He swallowed and looked up, eyes meeting Henley’s with much more intensity than she’d imagined. She’d forgotten how blue they were.

“Why don’t you love me anymore?” he asked.

Now it was Henley’s turn to look away. Her head turned to the left, staring at a palm tree behind one of the houses. _Why don’t you love me anymore._ Daniel Atlas sure had a blunt way with his words.

But that was always something she liked about him. No sugar coating or skirting unless he was teasing. She almost always knew when he was being serious, at least with her. They’d always understood each other because of that. Always had, and probably always would.

Henley sighed – no skirting around this one, she guessed. It was about time they settled it anyway.

“I… never stopped, you know,” she finally said. “I still do.”

“But not in… not the way I do.”

“Not necessarily.” Henley turned back to Danny, searching for the right words to say. “Danny I… you stopped talking to me, and it took me a long time to move on. I figured you didn’t care. We were best friends, and I loved you so much, and you never returned any of it. By the time we met again last year, I’d… I was over it. I still cared about you, but not in the same way as I did before.

“And I probably won’t again, at least for a while. You’re…” Henley shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “You’re capable of so much more, Danny, and I don’t mean magically. I mean as a person. I know you are. But you’re afraid to be better for some reason, and… until then, I don’t know if you’re worth what I’m willing to give.”

She could see the hurt in his eyes and regretted saying it, but it had to be said. It felt like a weight off her chest. And after a moment, Danny’s eyes softened and dropped, like he at least partially understood.

“To be perfectly honest, you were always better than me at magic,” he said, his fingers fidgeting. “That’s… why I liked you. You were someone I aspired to be like. And…” He swallowed. “I get it. I do. What you said. It’s just… hard for me to put someone else before me if I don’t know if they care about me.”

Henley smiled. “Well, I’ll always care about you, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her, the side of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Really?”

“I’m serious, Danny. Smug asshole persona and all. You’re lucky I put up with you.”

He snickered and shook his head, looking back at the magic shop. Danny noticed they’d turned the lights on. “Well, I am one of the most charming magicians in the world, Henley, so that’s to be expected.”

She punched him on the arm and laughed, and it felt so much like middle school that Danny almost wanted to cry. This was what they were supposed to feel like. Not weird backwards crushes and confusing glances – just laughing and sarcasm and a good dose of magic. That’s all they’d ever needed to be friends.

There was more he wanted to say, but now didn’t seem like the right time to say it. Henley cared about him and always would; maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to care about her. Truly and deeply. The way he did when they were kids.

“Want to head back?” Henley asked with a softer smile. “It’s getting dark. I bet they’re worried about us.”

“Pfft. Worried about you, maybe.”

“Says star of the show J. Daniel Atlas. Don’t give me that self deprecation nonsense, I know full well your ego is the size of the moon.”

He smiled and flipped his hair dramatically. “Why yes, Henley, it is. How kind of you to notice.”

She just shook her head and walked away, a smile still on her face, and Danny followed after her, realizing the sun was barely a sliver on the horizon. They’d been talking for a while – it’d be dark by the time they got to the hotel.

His stomach twisted when he thought of Dylan, his face after yelling at him about the Eye, all the pain and confusion and… god. He’d caused that. But he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, all he had to worry about was keeping up with Henley. And she wasn’t slowing down, not even in her heels.

It was nice that someone cared about him. Someone he knew for sure. Especially if it was Henley, even if it wasn’t how he wanted. But things could change. Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but in a few years. They’d grow up. Eventually.

Looked like he hadn’t needed to call Walter after all.

* * *

Henley and Danny came back to the rooms at around eight pm, both tired and hungry, but Danny didn’t seem as angry as he had before. Jack figured that was good – Danny tended to explode when he was angry and stay bitter for a while after. But talking to Henley had probably done the trick. She had a way of dealing with him no one else could do quite as well. Jack kind of envied that; he wished Danny liked him as much as he liked her.

But at least Danny and Dylan wouldn’t be yelling at each other anymore. Jack had hated that, more than anything he’d ever had to deal with after running away. It wasn’t just a fight – it was like being ripped apart and crushed and left alone all at once. And the things Danny had said…

The other five Horsemen were sitting in the girls’ room when Danny and Henley came back, sitting in a circle and talking about nothing very important. As soon as they opened the door, everyone fell silent, watching as the two of them walked in and shut the door behind them.

Dylan and Danny stared at each other, the tension thick as maple syrup.

Danny coughed. “I-I’m um…” he began. “I’m sorry I yelled. At you. A-and… yeah.”

Dylan clenched his jaw, his eyes drifting away from Danny – Jack could tell he was just as nervous as he was.

“It’s alright, Danny,” Dylan said. “And I uh… I’m sorry too. I haven’t paid attention to you when I should’ve been.” He glanced at Alma then back to the floor. “I messed up too, Atlas. I’m… I was supposed to be someone you – all of you – could rely on, and these past few days I haven’t been. Not as much as I could’ve been. And… I’m sorry.”

The room fell silent, no one really denying it, but Jack knew it wasn’t his fault. Dylan had been taking care of them nonstop for a year – he deserved a bit of a break.

“It’s alright, Dylan,” Lula said, smiling at him. “I mean, there are worse ways you could’ve been distracted.”

Alma blushed and looked away, smiling.

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Merritt teased, nudging Lula with his hand. “Besides, Danny, what you said… I think all of us were thinking it on some level, we just. Didn’t want to say it.”

A few nods, Dylan and Danny included. The two of them looked at each other, and for the moment it looked like they were alright. Not totally fine, but not about to bite each other’s heads off at least.

Then again, no one in this room was fine. It was too much to ask for their relationships to be too.

“Um.” Danny cleared his throat. “Now that we’re past that, I have a little. Question – why are you all sitting on the floor?”

“Yeah, are you trying to summon a demon or something?” Henley asked, smiling a little.

Lula grinned wide. “Finally,” she said, “someone who thinks like me.”

“No, we’re not summoning a demon,” Dylan said. His voice was back to the exasperated tone it was usually in – Jack grinned. “We’re just... talking, I guess. Honestly I don’t know.”

“I think six straight days of dangerous cross-country driving stretched all our nerves to their limits,” Merritt said with a laugh. “It wasn’t exactly an easy trip.”

“Yeah, we got shot at,” Lula said. “A lot.”

“I almost got kidnapped,” Henley said, she and Danny joining the circle on the floor.

“Dylan got beat up like four times,” Jack added.

“Twice,” Dylan corrected.

“Wait, really? Only twice?”

“Alma got shot in the arm,” Danny added.

“Oh, right,” Alma said, remembering. “We got in a gunfight.”

“My brother showed up out of nowhere.”

“Alma left her clothes in Arkansas.”

“You and Jack stole my book.”

“Hey, Dylan stole it too!”

“I _borrowed_ it Lula, shut up.”

“Pretty much everyone had a mental breakdown at some point.”

“We were almost killed like ten times.”

“Three.”

“Seriously? Only three?”

“Dylan, why are you keeping score?”

“Ooh, racists in Texas tried to beat us up!”

“That was just us two, Lula. Then Dylan saved us.”

“Merritt ran over that one guy in New Mexico.”

“Why yes, I did.”

“Alma learned how to do magic tricks.”

“I almost stabbed Thaddeus Bradley with my shoe!”

“We almost got kidnapped in Georgia, that still kinda counts right?”

“Cowan pulled a gun on me.”

“Jack and Lula stole toiletries from that hotel in Atlanta.”

“They what?”

“We spent like a week trying to get a rich psychopath with a vendetta arrested.”

“Yeah, and said rich psychopath has sent people with _guns_ after us _multiple times_ – seriously, am I the only one still freaking out about this?”

“Alma almost killed Thaddeus Bradley!”

“Again, Dylan got beat up like twice.”

“Enough about me getting beaten up!” Dylan laughed, but everyone else was laughing right along with him. Or at him. Jack wasn’t quite sure. “Okay, alright. I think that about covers everything. God, this was a busy week.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Lula said, flopping onto her back to stare at the ceiling. “Gosh.”

The room fell silent again, everyone waiting for the giggles to taper off and catch their breath. None of them had even realized how crazy the past few days had been; there hadn’t exactly been time to sit back and contemplate. This wasn’t a normal week, not even for the Horsemen, whose normal weeks consisted of putting on magic shows and skipping towns. In a lot of cases, they were lucky to be alive.

“Jeez,” Jack finally said with a sigh. “That was… wow.”

“We almost got kidnapped,” Henley said.

“We almost _died_ ,” Danny countered.

“Yeah but…” Lula grinned and glanced at Alma. “It was still the best week I’ve ever had in my life.”

Everyone nodded, and Jack looked towards Alma too. She was smiling, looking around at everyone like there was no place she’d rather be.

“Yes,” she said. “It was definitely that.”

Henley, who was sitting next to Alma, smiled and leaned into her to rest her head on her shoulder, happy to just enjoy the quiet while it lasted. Jack and Lula leaned into Dylan, who wrapped his arms around both of them and sighed, Jack seeping in the warmth. That left Danny and Merritt, who glanced at each other warily out of the corner of their eyes. No way in hell they’d be caught dead cuddling. Jack had to hide his smile.

Then Lula broke the silence with a sigh, her voice small.

“What’s gonna happen when this is over?” she asked.

Jack blinked and glanced over at Lula, who was staring up at Dylan with big green eyes and waiting for his answer. But Dylan didn’t look like he had one. His eyes fell out of focus, staring right through Lula like he was lost in thought, until he realized everyone was watching him and blinked a few times too.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I mean, if we get Tressler – and we have to if any of us want normal lives – then, I don’t know. The FBI, Austin, she may let us stay together, but…”

He trailed off, trying to find the right words but unable too. Then again, he didn’t have to; everyone knew what he was saying. Henley had a price on her head thanks to her parents. Danny was a runaway. Merritt was a college dropout without a future. Lula lived in a circus and probably didn’t even have identification. And Jack… Jack couldn’t go back to foster care, not after what’d happened to him. If they sent him back there, if he got trapped in that house again, he… he didn’t know what he’d do. He might get put in Juvy, or he’d escape and end up on the streets, but there’d be no one waiting for him anymore. He’d gotten used to that, someone waiting for him. He didn’t realize how much it’d hurt if that was gone.

They’d all been alone when Dylan found them, even the few of them with families, and they didn’t have anyone to go back to. Not really. The Horsemen were all each other had. And with most of them being underage runaways, and with Dylan’s record and Alma living all the way in France…

“Look,” Dylan said, meeting each and every one of their eyes. “I’ve known the boss for a long time, okay? She trusts me. And if we help bring Tressler in, I might be able to convince her to let us stay together. I might.”

“That’s going to be tough for those of us who still have parents,” Henley reminded him, twisting the bottom of her shirt.

“I know, but we can try. That’s the best we can hope for.” He smiled. “Besides, we’re magicians. We’re in the Eye, bad intentions or not. And we look out for our own. Since when have rules and locks kept us out of somewhere, huh?”

That got a few smiles. Magicians and thieves and criminal masterminds, all traveling around in a van. Nothing could keep them away from each other.

“You’re a part of this too, Alma,” Merritt said, winking at her. _He must’ve noticed her feeling left out,_ Jack thought. But Alma’s face was still torn when Jack cast a glance at her, and Merritt’s smile dropped away.

“What?” he asked.

Alma swallowed and took a breath, staring into the center of the circle. “I…” she began, “I need to tell you all something.”

That got the room quiet again real quick. Alma took another breath and looked up, meeting their eyes.

“Do you remember that call I got?” she asked. “In the ice cream shop?”

“The… one in Texas?” Danny asked. “Yeah, why?”

“I… it was a call from Natalie Austin. I forgot to tell you all about it, I got distracted and didn’t have a chance. But now, I… It was about you, Dylan.”

His eyes flicked up, watching her, waiting for a response.

“The FBI knows you’re in the Eye.”

He blinked, startled, but a second later Jack could see his mind working, solving the problem in his head.

“How?” he asked.

“A few days ago, the FBI received an anonymous tip about you,” she continued. “Deputy Director Austin got it directly to her cell phone. The tipper claimed you were in the Eye, and after researching it and talking to Fuller and Cowan, they…” She sighed and stared Dylan in the eye. “They’re sure you’re in the Eye. They didn’t want to believe it – well, Fuller and Austin, really – but they do. It’s the only thing that explained your behavior for the past year.”

Dylan seemed frozen, still trying to work out the problem in his head while the rest of them worked through their shock. Merritt cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, “you forgot to mention that the FBI now believes we’re part of a criminal organization.”

“Not all of you, just him. But… yes.” Alma winced. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s alright. We weren’t exactly having a tranquil past few days, if I remember correctly–”

“Who called in the tip?” Dylan asked.

Alma shrugged. “They were anonymous, and they masked their voice, but Austin had a feeling the tipper was male.” She rubbed at the hem of her pants and glanced at Henley. “The call also came right after we ran into Thaddeus Bradley.”

Henley shook her head. “God damn it,” she said through her teeth.

“It’s not your fault, Henley,” Dylan said.

“I know, but he still pisses me off.”

“He pisses all of us off,” Danny added.

“What else did she tell you?” Lula asked Alma, drawing the conversation back. Since when was she the one doing that?

“Austin had a feeling the Eye was using us to draw out Tressler too,” Alma continued, glancing towards Danny. “Probably because they’re desperate and running out of options. And they knew if they took down Tressler, he’d drag Dylan down with him as a member of the Eye. They called me to warn me, but told me not to let you know I knew.”

“So _they_ don’t know that _we_ know that _they_ know we’re in the Eye,” Dylan said. “Well, that _I’m_ in the Eye. They don’t think the kids are in it?”

“No, they don’t.”

“Okay.” Dylan sighed, still thinking. “Okay.”

“So much for convincing Deputy Director Austin to let us stay together,” Danny said.

Merritt glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine today.”

“It’s been a long week, Merritt.”

“When are the FBI coming?” Dylan asked.

“Tomorrow morning, I think,” Alma said. “They’re flying in.”

“Do they know about Tressler knowing the show is a trap?”

“Yes, I told them – they’re trying to come up with another plan now.”

“I’m sure the Eye is too,” Dylan said, scratching the back of his head. “Which means we’ll have to come up with a plan to nab Tressler by tomorrow that also ends with us getting away. That’s… not going to be easy.”

“Dylan, come on,” Henley said with a smile. “When has anything in our lives been easy?”

That at least made him smile.

“Well,” Merritt said, standing up and stretching. “Now that we’ve covered pretty much every stressful version of our future we possibly could, I think it’s time for bed.”

“It’s like eight thirty,” Danny complained.

“Yes, and we have a show, a party, and a possible capturing of one of the most dangerous men in the world tomorrow, Atlas. I think some beauty sleep is order.”

“Merritt’s right,” Dylan said, getting up as well. “We need rest if we want to pull this off. Everyone, time for bed.”

There were a few collective groans, but everyone got up and did as Dylan asked. No one could argue with that logic. Besides, they were exhausted. Everyone said their goodnights as the girls and boys parted ways, the boys filtering back into their room.

“How are we supposed to sleep after something like that?” Jack asked, suppressing a yawn. Sure, he was tired, but he still felt taut as a wire. He couldn’t stop thinking about tomorrow, about what could happen.

“I don’t know, but I’m trying,” Dylan said, rubbing Jack’s shoulder. “You should too.”

“I know, I just…” His voice broke before he could stop himself, and he sucked in some air, trying to calm down. _Don’t cry,_ he thought to himself. _Don’t cry, okay? You’re not scared. It’ll be okay._

 “Hey, hey, Jack.” Dylan knelt down, hands on Jack’s shoulders to steady him, and Jack couldn’t look away from his eyes. How did he always know when he was upset? “It’s okay, alright? It’s okay. I’m not going to let anyone take you away from us.”

Jack sucked in another breath, this one shakier than the last. “Promise?” he asked.

Dylan nodded, his hands keeping Jack rooted on the ground.

“Promise,” he said.

Jack nodded back and hugged Dylan as tight as he could, wishing he could stay like this forever. But then Dylan pulled away, and Jack was left alone to find his own way to a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you still waiting for Jack's backstory: I have it in mind and I've written it down, but I'm not sure I'll be able to fit it into the fic the way I want it to. It's some pretty heavy stuff, and it's something that would only come out in very specific situations - and the last thing I want to do is make a backstory like Jack's come out forced.
> 
> But, for those of you who asked, I wrote his a while ago and posted it on my blog: http://aneyeformagic.tumblr.com/post/148277092927/sharing-stories
> 
> thanks for reading, guys. get ready to hit the ground running >:)


	26. And Now For The "Plot Twist"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. it's been... oh, almost two months since I last updated. Um. Sorry. I was planning to update earlier this week but then i lost my computer at airport security and went on a trip for five days without access to my writing and. well. It was a mess.
> 
> but, as promised, another chapter before the new year. It's a little longer than usual, but I hope y'all enjoy. 
> 
> thanks for sticking around guys

Alma got a call at seven twenty-two the next morning from Natalie Austin, telling her to come down to the hotel lobby and not let anyone know. The boys were mostly still asleep, but Henley was up, so Alma told her anyway. She figured the secrecy was due to the FBI being wary of the Eye – luckily, she was right.

It was a little disorienting for Alma, being what essentially boiled down to a double agent. For a criminal organization of magicians, no less. What on earth would her parents think?

 _They don’t control you anymore,_ Dylan whispered in her mind.

Alma smiled; he was right. She finally trusted her heart more than she trusted her parents’ teachings, and now she was a part of something bigger. Now she could be whomever she wanted.

 _Then again,_ she thought, the elevator doors sliding open and revealing three FBI agents in the hotel lobby. _There_ are _still a few problems to work through._

“Agent Dray,” Austin said, smiling as Alma stepped off the elevator. “Good to see you. How was the trip?”

“Exhausting,” she replied, not even having to lie. “It was… eventful.”

“Yeah, uh, we noticed,” Cowan said. “We were watching the news, and your van showed up a little too much for our liking. What exactly _is_ your definition of ‘low profile?’ Or do you just not have that expression in French?”

“Cowan, Jesus Christ, it’s _seven am_ ,” Fuller said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Alma had to agree – she’d barely even said a word and already wanted to punch Cowan in the face. She had no idea how any of them managed being around him so often.

“It wasn’t our fault,” she informed Cowan with a glare. “Unless you think we hired masked gunmen to try to kill us just to make the front page in some little town newspaper. And we do have that phrase in French – _se faire oublier_ , literally _to make oneself forgotten_. I doubt any of us would mind if you made yourself forgotten, Agent Cowan.”

Cowan’s eyes widened to the size of saucers while Fuller chuckled under his breath. “Get any sleep last night?” he asked her.

“Not really.”

“Figures. Sure you don’t want to join the FBI?”

“Alright, reign it in,” Austin said, and the three of them calmed down enough to listen to her – though Cowan kept glaring at Alma out of the corner of his eye. “How are things with the Horsemen, Austin? Alright?”

She nodded. “They’re fine.”

“Don’t suspect we know about the Eye?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way.” Austin put on her game face as Alma contemplated how easy it was to lie now. Strange. “If Rhodes isn’t actually in the Eye, we have nothing to worry about. If he is–”

“Then we finally drag him in like the criminal he is,” Cowan smirked. Fuller glared at him. “What?”

He huffed and looked away, refusing to reply – Alma couldn’t imagine what he must’ve been going through since the anonymous tip. From what she could tell, Dylan Rhodes and Ben Fuller had been best friends since the FBI academy. Learning that someone you trusted could’ve been lying to you that whole time…

It was similar to when Danny brought up the point that the Eye wasn’t all that it seemed; that had hurt Alma more than she cared to admit, and she wasn’t even in it. But for Ben – especially Ben – this was a little more personal. This wasn’t just some faceless secret society; it was Dylan.

“Cowan, if you don’t mind, a few of us would like to give our friend the benefit of the doubt,” Austin said, a little snappier than before. “And Dray, did you find any evidence tying him to the Eye?”

Alma shook her head, lying again. “No, none.”

“Did you look hard enough?” Cowan asked.

“Shut. It.” Austin looked ready to rip his head off, and honestly, no one would’ve stopped her. “Rhodes may not be all that he seems, but he’s not a bad person, Cowan. Never has been. And until we know for sure what he is, we’re treating him as an equal, not a criminal. Understood?”

“Fine,” he spat. “But once we grab Tressler, you know he’ll drag Rhodes down with him.”

“If Rhodes really is in the Eye, he’d be willing to make that sacrifice,” Fuller said. “You know he would.”

Cowan didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Okay, enough,” Austin said. “We need to focus on Tressler. Have the Horsemen come up with a plan?”

“Not yet,” Alma said. “We’re all at a loss, really. The plan wasn’t very good to begin with, and once he figured out what we were doing – well, Tressler isn’t an idiot. And now we don’t have a plan or resources or any connection to Tressler we can exploit.”

Fuller and Austin looked at each other, and Alma felt the mood of the group shift.

“What?” she asked.

“We… actually might have something for that,” Fuller said. “Remember that kid you asked us to dig into? Mabry?”

“Walter Mabry, yes.” Alma gave him a look. “Why?”

Fuller stuffed his hands into his pockets and braved a small smile. “You better come see for yourself. I think we found our connection to Tressler.”

* * *

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Danny grumbled, face in his hands.

Alma smiled, back in the hotel rooms after her conversation with the FBI downstairs. She was pretty happy about her surprising the Horsemen for once, instead of the other way around. “No, I’m not,” she said. “Walter Mabry is Arthur Tressler’s son.”

“But… that doesn’t make any sense,” Lula said, confused. “Wouldn’t they have the last name?”

“Wouldn’t the Eye _know_ if Tressler had a kid?” Merritt added. “Or were they lying about that too.”

“They weren’t lying,” Alma replied. “And Arthur Tressler has many children, both legitimate and not. Walter is the latter – and supposedly, he died three years ago just before going to college.”

“But, he’s _not_ dead, so he must’ve faked his death with his dad’s help and stayed in touch,” Henley gathered. “And – wait, college? Isn’t he like, eighteen _now?_ How was he going to college at fifteen?”

“He’s a genius,” Alma said, telling them everything the FBI told her. “Incredible with electronic engineering and computer science, skipped two grades and probably would’ve gone to an amazing school. But he died in a car accident before the end of his senior year.”

“Supposedly,” Dylan muttered. “How did the FBI even figure this out?”

“Well, when I asked them to look into Walter Mabry, they realized his history was flimsy before he got into college. So they cross-referenced him with Tressler and discovered Tressler had a son named Walter–”

“One who died right when Walter _Mabry’s_ history started making sense,” Dylan finished with a grin. “God, I love Fuller. He runs point for all this research stuff, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Danny said, staring at everyone. “So, Walter is actually Tressler’s son, _and_ he’s stayed in contact with his dad. Didn’t we meet him on the highway on the way to Oglethorpe?”

“Yeah, and Henley brought him backstage!” Lula said. “That must be why Tressler’s men attacked the show!”

“That little weasel’s been our leak all along,” Merritt grumbled. “Typical.”

“God, I can’t believe I _called_ him,” Danny said, rubbing his head. “Oh my god, how desperate is that? I can’t believe I thought – what the hell, I was so _stupid_ –”

“Actually,” Alma interrupted, “you calling him provides the perfect opportunity for a new plan.”

Danny stopped and looked up, brows furrowed. “Wait,” he said. “Hold on, you mean–”

“The party,” Henley realized. “Walter probably set up that party so his dad could grab us. If we get kidnapped and the FBI has evidence tying it to Tressler–”

“Then we get rid of Tressler and everything’s done!” Lula finished, grinning wide. “Oh my god, it’s _perfect!_ We can go to the party like FBI spies, like Mission Impossible!”

“This isn’t a movie, Lula,” Jack reminded her.

“Yeah, but it’s still awesome!”

“Wait a minute, calm down,” Dylan said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “We need to think this through. We need a plan, preferably one that doesn’t end with you guys hurt or me arrested by my friends.”

“The FBI are working with us on this,” Alma reminded everyone. “We have to have two plans – one to tell them, and the real one.”

“Well, I mean, we can do that right?” Danny asked. “We make up plans all the time. It’ll be easy. All we gotta do is make two separate endings – they expect to meet us somewhere, and we contact the Eye and get shipped off to China or something.”

“If, you know, the Eye is willing to do that,” Jack said.

Dylan smiled, thinking of something he didn’t want to share. “They will,” he said. “If we nab Tressler, they’ll come get us. I know they will. The Eye looks out for their own.”

“But what if we don’t make it out?” Lula asked.

He fell silent, not having an answer, and Alma could feel the faith of the entire group waver.

“They’ll come,” Dylan finally said. “They have to.”

No one wanted to ask what would happen if he was wrong.

* * *

“Alright, one last thing,” Danny said. They’d spent the last three hours coming up with a plan to get kidnapped by Tressler, tie evidence to him, and escape the FBI, and they were finally nearing the end. “If we’re breaking into Walter’s mansion Mission Impossible Style, we need code names.”

Dylan glared at him. “No we don’t, Atlas.”

“Yes, we absolutely do. What, do you want me to start shouting our names into my mic if I get into trouble? Codenames, Dylan. Codenames. Come on.”

“Actually I’d like a codename,” Lula said absentmindedly.

“There, see? It’s decided.”

“ _Fine_ , we’ll have codenames,” Dylan conceded, obviously too exasperated to continue arguing. “Now what exactly will those be? It can’t be obvious, you know.”

“We could call everyone by what part of the family they are,” Merritt suggested. Then he put his fingers to his ear, mimicking speaking into a spy mic. “Calling Dad, this is Weird Uncle, report. We have confirmed sighting of Angsty Teen seducing the sociopath, I repeat–”

Henley and Jack snorted as Atlas gave Merritt a withering glare. Merritt just shrugged and sat back.

“Yeah, okay, that’s a no,” Dylan immediately said. “Any other ideas?”

“Our tarot cards?” Jack piped up.

Everyone paused and turned to him, and he immediately started backtracking in his mind, ready to apologize, but Henley suddenly nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “that’s a good idea, actually. And it makes sense, what with Danny being the Lovers and all.”

“Oh my god, can we _please_ stop talking about how I’m supposed to seduce Walter Tressler at this fancy party, I’m going insane.”

“We said _distract_ , Danny,” Henley reminded him. “Not necessarily _seduce_.”

“Oh please, as if everyone didn’t pick up on the colloquial connotations when you suggested it.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who called him like a lovesick puppy. He already thinks you like him, it’s not going to be that hard.”

“This coming from the girl who just has to plug a USB drive into his computer system.”

Henley flipped her hair and smirked. “Yeah, a USB drive I programmed myself to hack into any computer and extract information, Danny. Let’s see you do that instead.”

“Alright, alright,” Dylan said, interrupting them before things got ugly. “Focus. Everyone okay with tarot codenames?” Nods all around. “Good. We can just call Danny ‘The Lover’ for short.”

“Dylan, I hate you.”

He grinned. “Henley, let’s just call you Priestess.”

“Sounds vague and mysterious,” Henley said, leaning back in her chair. “I love it.”

“Everyone else is basically the same.” There were nods all around. Hermit, Death, Star, and Fool. Made sense. “We good?”

“Yes, Dylan,” Henley replied.

“What about Alma?” Jack asked. “And… the rest of the FBI for that matter. Since they’ll be using the coms too. Would they even be okay with tarot card codenames?”

“They will be once I talk to them,” Alma said with a smirk. “But yes, what am I? I’m curious.”

Dylan took a moment to look at her, really look, like some kind of wise sage master discerning the secrets of the universe. Then, after a second, he sat back and said, “The Sun.”

Lula tilted her head and squinted, then her eyes widened and she gasped. “Oh, that’s _perfect_.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Have I mentioned,” he began, “how irritating it is that only the two of you actually know what the hell is going on with tarot cards?”

“Well, you’d know too if you took the time to learn it,” Lula replied.

“No thanks, I’m busy learning _useful_ card tricks.”

“Oh. My. God. Danny–”

“No, no,” Dylan said, grabbing Lula’s shoulder before she could stand up. “Any fighting over this, and no more tarot codenames. Got it? We’ll get stuck with boring FBI codenames. Anyone want that? Didn’t think so.”

“He called tarot dumb,” Lula pouted.

“And I’m sure you’ll get him back later. Help me name the rest of the team.”

The two of them – along with some help from Henley and Jack on a tarot interpretation website – managed to come up with some codenames for the other agents, and once they had them all down, the Horsemen ran the plan by Alma one more time. She had to make sure to give the FBI the right version of the plan, otherwise they’d be caught; but Alma had more than a little faith in her abilities. She hadn’t become an Interpol Agent for no reason, after all.

Once that was done, everyone went downstairs, the Horsemen carrying all their stuff into the van. They had to rehearse on the stage beforehand, acquaint themselves with the tech crew, and make sure everything was in working order – Alma would stay behind with the FBI, brief them on the plan for later, and watch the show from the back. Apparently, the place was sold out. Walter Mabry had spared no expense for his party, and only the Horsemen and their ticket-holding viewers were allowed inside.   

Which also meant the FBI weren’t allowed in, but that was alright. If anything, their escape plan was kind of counting on that.

“Hey, Fuller. Boss,” Dylan said, all smiles when they went downstairs. Austin and Fuller put on smiles too – it was amusing, seeing the FBI try and play the Horsemen when really the Horsemen were playing them. “Cowan,” Dylan said less enthusiastically. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Austin said. “Mind telling us why your van made the news almost every day of your cross-country trip, Rhodes?”

He opened his mouth, nothing came out, and he closed it again, making an uncomfortable expression and a shrug as his response. Behind him, the kids filtered out the doors to the van, carrying their stuff and keeping a wary eye on the FBI. Dylan was between the two of them the whole time.

Austin just shook her head and smiled. “It’s fine, Rhodes,” she said. “I know it’s not your fault. Just… try to keep a low profile next time?”

“If there is a next time,” Cowan smirked, his eyes glinting maliciously in Dylan’s direction.

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Cowan, for Christ’s sake, are you incapable of being an ass?” Fuller asked.

“I am when most everyone around me’s an idiot,” he shot back.

“HEY!” Lula shouted, halfway out the door.

Austin shook her head. “Alright, enough,” she said. “Rhodes, where are you and those kids going?”

“We need to rehearse on the stage for the show,” he answered, adjusting the bag hanging over his shoulder. “It’s our ticket into Walter’s party, so it needs to be good. Alma knows our plan, though, so she’ll brief you.”

“Alright, thank you Rhodes,” Austin said. “We’ll see you…?”

“An hour before the show,” he said. “We’ll need our coms and stuff by then, since we’ll head to Walter’s party immediately after.”

“Alright, thanks.” She smiled. “Don’t do anything stupid, Rhodes.”

“Aw come on, boss, you know me too well to make me promise that.”

She shook her head as Dylan turned away, following his kids out the door. The sun glinted through the glass doors and filtered through the edges of his hair. Alma smiled; he looked a little like an angel.

“Hey Rhodes!” Fuller said. Dylan stopped and turned, meeting Fuller’s eyes.

“Good luck,” he said.

Dylan smiled, a smaller, genuine smile than he’d given before, and walked outside to the van.

Fuller sighed and rubbed the back of his head, turning away from the doors. “I really don’t want him to be a part of the Eye,” he said.

“None of us do, Fuller,” Austin replied, her voice soft.

Alma said nothing, watching Dylan’s posture drop before he left her sight through the glass doors, wondering what this was doing to him.

 _Nothing good,_ she thought. _That much is clear._

“So, Dray,” Austin said, regaining her composure. “What’s the plan?”

“Both the one they told you and the one you think they actually have,” Cowan added.

It took her a second to remember they didn’t _actually_ know about the plan. “I uh… I’m not sure,” she said. “I know the plan they told me, and it makes sense, but I’m not sure what their actual plan is. If they even have an ‘actual’ plan.”

“Trust me, they do,” Cowan replied. “They’re going to try and escape before Tressler rats them out, you can count on it.”

“How about she just gives us the plan they told her and we figure it out from there?” Fuller said. Cowan shrugged, and the three agents turned to Alma.

She sighed. “Alright,” she said. “The plan.

“A few minutes before the show, we meet the Horsemen one last time and give them mics, wires, and hidden tracking devices so they can communicate with us and we know their location. Once the show is done, the Horsemen will take a limo provided by Walter Mabry to his house in Beverly Hills. Considering he and Arthur Tressler know the FBI will be watching the Horsemen and stirring up suspicion around Walter is the last thing they’d want to do, it’s unlikely he’ll use the limo to kidnap them, so until they get to the party they’ll be alright. Once there, Danny will distract Walter and maybe try to get information out of him while Lula and Merritt will put on a show for the guests. Meanwhile, Henley and Jack will sneak downstairs and attempt to download any sensitive information on Walter Mabry or Arthur Tressler.”

“How exactly are they planning to do that?” Cowan asked.

“Henley is… very… good with computers,” Alma said, forgetting the name. “Um, what’s the word for that?”

“Hacker?” Fuller suggested.

“Yes, hacker.”

“Right, her parents own the massive IT company,” Austin remembered. “You think she can hack in on her own? We can’t exactly back her up.”

“I believe she can,” Alma said. “And even if she can’t, the idea is that she and Jack intentionally get caught by Tressler’s men. If the Horsemen are looking for information on Tressler in Walter Mabry’s mansion, Tressler will know they know about his son. He’ll believe they have sensitive information and have to kidnap them to keep Mabry a secret. And once he kidnaps those two–”

“He’ll kidnap the rest just to take care of any loose ends,” Austin said. “Smart.”

“What about Rhodes?” Fuller asked. “Where’s he in all of this?”

“Rhodes will be at the party but staying mostly out of sight and only helping when needed. We think he’ll be kidnapped along with the other Horsemen, but we’re not sure.”

“Tressler will probably want to expose him and leave him with us after taking the kids,” Cowan said.

“Problem is, we won’t know for sure it’s Tressler kidnapping them until we get evidence of that,” Austin said. “He’s not stupid enough to not look for wires on those kids.”

“They’re magicians, boss,” Fuller said. “They probably know how to hide them so they can’t be found.”

“We’ll also need to give them extra wires and tracking devices for them to hide more obviously,” Alma said.

Austin nodded. “Decoys,” she said. “Even better. Cowan, do we have enough tech for this kind of operation?”

“Probably? I got no idea.”

“Well get an idea. We’re taking down Tressler here, I don’t have time for your bullshit, alright?”

Cowan grumbled something about how he never should’ve joined the FBI and headed for the doors. “Fine, I’ll go check,” he said. “What if we don’t?”

“Then we work with what we have,” Austin told him. Cowan didn’t answer and walked out into the parking lot.

“So,” she said, turning back to Alma, “supposing we get all this right and Tressler doesn’t find their hidden wires and tracking devices, what’s next?”

“You take the evidence to the FBI and force them to help us take down Tressler,” Alma answered. “You’ll probably need more than three FBI agents and an Interpol agent to take Tressler down, especially in his own territory.”

“And after that?” Fuller asked.

Alma shrugged. “They didn’t give me plans after that.”

“If we’re right about the Eye, that’s probably when they’ll try to bolt,” Austin said. “We… need a plan to capture them after this is over.”

“Boss, can’t we just–” Fuller stopped when Austin raised an eyebrow. “I’m just… I’m just saying. Dylan and these kids are helping us catch Tressler at risk to their own _lives_. Can’t we just… let them go?”

Austin’s brown eyes softened and looked away, and she sighed. “I hope we can,” she said quietly. “But I doubt Tressler will give us that option. If Rhodes really is in the Eye, Tressler will make sure he gets arrested right along with him. And then the kids will get sent back where they belong.”

“They don’t belong anywhere but with him,” Alma said.

Austin gave her a look, and Alma realized she was far too close to blowing her cover and silenced herself. But she could tell the FBI boss knew how she really felt now. That was a problem.

Fuller knew too, but he was more sympathetic. “Dylan’s been taking care of those kids for a year now, hasn’t he?” he asked.

Alma nodded.

“God, I just… this isn’t fair.”

Austin shook her head. “No, it’s not, but these are the cards we’ve been dealt, Fuller. And we’ll play them how we can.”

Neither Fuller nor Alma wanted to respond to that, but they didn’t have to; Cowan came back through the doors a second later and walked up to them, effectively shutting off the conversation.

“Well, we have enough tech for most of them,” he informed them. “So there’s that. I miss anything?”

Austin shook her head. “Just contingency planning,” she said. “Anything else, Agent Dray?”

Alma was ready to shake her head, but then she remembered something and nodded. “Actually, yes,” she said with a smile. “One last thing.”

She pulled a sticky note out of her pocket and handed it to Austin, the three FBI agents all looking at the note in varying levels of confusion. Then Fuller looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“What are these?” he asked.

“Aren’t they tarot cards?” Austin asked.

Alma nodded. “Yes, they are. It was the kids’ idea, actually, they wanted to feel more like spies.”

They were confused for a second more, then Austin realized: “Codenames?”

Alma nodded, smiling along with Fuller, and Cowan groaned like death would be better than doing anything the Horsemen kids could come up with.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

* * *

The Horsemen show started at seven pm and ended around eight, so Alma, Fuller, and Austin snuck in at six forty to give Dylan and the kids coms and wires for the party afterwards. Dylan told the crew they’d be doing some traditions and the six magicians snuck into a backroom where the agents were waiting. Cowan, by popular consensus, was watching the van.

“These are the wires,” Austin said, handing them out to the Horsemen. They only had nine, so the extra three were given to Danny, Henley, and Jack, the ones who were most likely getting kidnapped. “Hide them wherever you need to, but make sure they aren’t muffled. These are how we get our evidence.

 “We only have six tracking devices, so hide them well.” Austin passed those out as well, everyone taking one. “They’re smaller, so they should be easier to hide.”

“We can hide them wherever we want?” Merritt asked, holding his up to the light.

“Merritt,” Henley began, “If you shove yours in your pants, I swear to god–”

“Guys, focus,” Dylan said before turning to Austin. “Comms?”

“Already there, Rhodes,” Austin replied, holding six comms in the palm of her hand. “Put these in your ears and we’ll use them to communicate. Once you get captured, we’re expecting them to be taken, so don’t worry if they are. Got it?”

The Horsemen all nodded, each taking a comm to put in their ears as they slipped the other tech under their clothes.

Alma watched as each Horsemen hid their devices, trying to calm herself down. _This is part of the plan_ , she thought. _They know what to do. For them, this is a piece of cake._

She was still pretty uneasy though. Alma wasn’t really used to this spy business.

Instead she watched as Dylan flicked his wrist and the tracking device in his hand disappeared, Jack watching and copying him at a slower pace. Maybe one day she could learn how to do that, make something disappear out of thin air. If the plan worked, she might. If it didn’t, she’d either be stuck in Interpol or in jail. Neither were really places she could practice card tricks.

 _Have faith, Alma,_ she thought. _They’ll be fine._

Once all the devices were hidden, the FBI and the Horsemen went over the plan one more time, just to clear up any loose ends. It was obvious the FBI were just trying to figure out the Horsemen’s real plan; Dylan fed them lies, and Alma could see their minds working, trying to solve problems that didn’t exist. Not for the first time, she was amazed at how clever Dylan Shrike really was. Everyone underestimated him, and it made it that much easier for him to fool them.

Alma never thought she’d ever admire a thief. And yet, here she was.

Eventually, the FBI left, satisfied with their perceived answers, and Alma stayed behind to circle up with the rest of the Horsemen. It made her smile now, how easy it was to blend right in with them. All it’d taken was a week stuck in a van. If only bonding with her real family had been that simple.

“So, guys,” Dylan said, gesturing towards his wire. _Don’t give anything away, they’re listening._ “I hate to say it, but this may be the last time we’re all together.”

“It won’t be,” Henley replied, “we’ll make sure of it.”

Smiles and nods all around, and Dylan looked like he wanted to cry.

“Thanks, guys,” he said. “I… thanks for sticking with me for the past year. It hasn’t always been a smooth ride.”

“More like a road ridden with potholes if you ask me,” Danny said.

“Danny,” Henley chastised.

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing.” He smirked at Dylan. “Besides, when has anything ever been easy for us?”

That got a few laughs, at least, and then Danny put his hand in the middle and everyone else followed. Henley, Lula, Jack, Merritt, Alma, and finally Dylan. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand, and Alma felt heat rise to her face, a few of the other Horsemen smirking.

As if they didn’t already know.

“Alright guys,” Dylan said, “you ready?”

Everyone nodded, even Alma, and Dylan locked eyes with her and smiled.

“Then let’s go put on a show.”


	27. Party Crashers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back from the pits of hell, guys. >:)
> 
> So hey!!! I am so, s o sorry it took this long to update, really I am, but guess what? I JUST GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL!!! HELL YEAH! And now that it's summer, I'll hopefully have more time for this fic, as well as all the other stuff I'm writing. I'm planning on finishing this before I go off to college (we'll see how that goes). 
> 
> Anyway, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has stuck around this long for more of this dumb fic, I'm really happy you've done so. It means a lot to me - I'm not sure what I want to major in yet, but it just might be creative writing, and y'all's support is really pushing me towards believing I could make it as an author. Seriously, thank you.
> 
> Alright, enough about me, it's time for trash. Trash and cliffhangers and hell. 
> 
> Didn't you miss me? >;p

“We are the Horsemen – thank you, and goodnight!”

Thunderous applause echoed in the theater as the Horsemen took their bows, grins wide on their faces. Even when about to face terrifying and possibly deadly situations, they could still get high on a good performance. And this… this was one of their best. The biggest audience they’d ever performed for together, on the biggest stage most of them had ever performed on at all, and their acts had been nearly flawless. They worked like a well-oiled machine, and there was really nothing in the world that could match that.

But then they had to disappear off the stage and run headfirst into danger.

Time for the real magic to begin.

“Nice job, everyone!” Dylan said, grinning just as wide as they were. He was so proud of them – they really were some of the most talented kids he’d ever known. And the bravest, by far. “Alright, the limo is out back. Ready?”

The kids nodded, faces set. They were confident now – a good performance could do that to people. And Dylan knew that where they were headed, they were going to need all the confidence they could get.

The kids slipped out of their mic packs and double-checked their FBI devices, making sure everything was in place. Once they were ready, Dylan led them to the back entrance of the stage, where their fancy limo was waiting for them. It didn’t take them long to pile in. Jack and Lula were so excited about being in a _limo_ that for a moment, they forgot they actually had a mission.

“Oh, this is nice,” Henley sighed, reclining on one of the seats. Danny stuck his tongue out at her and sat down on one of the other seats – well, more of a couch, really. And was that a _mini_ _bar?_

“Fine, take up an entire seat for yourself, why don’t you,” he told Henley. She flipped him off and closed her eyes.

“I need my beauty sleep,” she replied.

“We’re probably gonna be there in like ten minutes, Hen,” Merritt reminded her.

“Shh. Beauty sleep.”

“THIS IS SO COOL!” Lula shouted, jumping up and down on one of the seats before Dylan managed to grab her and make her sit down. Henley cringed.

“So much for beauty sleep,” she muttered.

The Horsemen did their best to settle down and enjoy the ride, but it was proving more difficult the closer they got to Walter’s house. Their high-energy confidence from the show was slowly simmering away into nervous jitters – this was it, it was really happening. They were going to take down Tressler once and for all. And if they succeeded, they weren’t really sure what would happen to them.

If they didn’t, they knew exactly what would happen to them. Which was, in its own special way, worse.

Jack, luckily, had found a good way to keep the jitters away by sticking his head out of the limo sunroof. Lula joined him once she managed to wriggle away from Dylan – it was really cool seeing the city like this, instead of on foot or from the inside of a van. Plus, everything was all lit up and bustling and loud at night. It reminded Jack a little of New York.

“Whoa,” Lula suddenly said. “Guess that’s Walter’s house.”

Jack turned around to see, and his jaw dropped open.

‘House’ was definitely an understatement. So was mansion. The place looked like a goddamn palace, and every bit of it was illuminated and blasting party music and completely swamped with people. It looked like the party had already started, and there was still a line down the block of people just waiting to get in. God knew how many were already inside.

“Oh my god.” Henley, Danny, and Merritt had joined Jack and Lula in the sunroof, staring at Walter’s party palace as they approached through the traffic. “How did all these people get here so quickly?” Henley asked. “Didn’t the show end like ten minutes ago?”

“Maybe they left early,” Merritt supplied.

“Or they bought tickets and didn’t show up,” Danny added.

“Or stole the tickets,” said Jack.

“Or maybe it’s just a bunch of people Tressler paid to show up to fill the space,” Lula said. “Maybe they’re all actually ninjas that are ready to assassinate us at a moment’s notice.”

The other four stared at her, and she made a face. “What?” she asked.

“Was that supposed to be encouraging?” Jack asked.

“Well… I mean, I don’t know, I just like ninjas.”

“Okay, kids, get back inside,” Dylan yelled, and the kids obliged. As soon as they were in, Dylan closed the sunroof and took a good look at all of them.

“Are you still sure about doing this?” he asked. The car was beginning to slow, and the music was getting louder – they were almost at the party. “It’s not too late to call it quits, you know, and if you don’t want to do this anymore–”

“Dylan.” Henley took his hand and squeezed it, giving him a smile. The rest of the Horsemen followed her example; Dylan was more scared about this mission than they were, and he wasn’t even the one getting kidnapped.

“We’ll be fine,” Danny said. “Promise.”

Dylan shook his head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He would’ve said something else, something less ominous and pessimistic too cheer them up and give them hope, but then the car stopped and the limo doors opened, and the kids had slipped outside before he could open his mouth. Dylan sighed and followed them out – no more doubts. It was time for the show.

The six Horsemen stood at the edge of a red carpet, the limo behind them pulling away, and Walter Tressler stood at the other end by the doors to his house, arms spread wide like the world’s best showman. He was wearing a pristine white suit, complete with a cane, and he was smiling.

“Welcome to Mabry Mansion, Horsemen!” he said. “It’s about time you joined the party!”

* * *

It took them all about five minutes to fully integrate themselves into the party, working their way towards their go positions, all the while getting accosted by a seemingly endless wave of adoring fans. Dylan, luckily, didn’t have to worry about that. It was one of the reasons he never appeared on stage with the other Horsemen; better to work behind the scenes than be easily recognized by strangers and enemies alike. Besides, that was his job for tonight. He was the ghost. His kids were the main event.

“This is the Fool, checking in,” Dylan said, holding a cell phone to his ear to disguise his talking as a phone conversation. “How are things looking out there?”

“Busy, but nothing to worry about,” Austin replied. “You?”

“Fine, I think.” Dylan took another glance around. Henley was drifting towards the bathrooms, chatting animatedly with some admirers, and Jack had already disappeared. Lula and Merritt looked ready to put on a show. And Danny was already working Walter, waving a maraschino cherry around from what Dylan hoped was a virgin Daiquiri.

“We’re ready,” Jack said. “Oh, this is Death by the way. Sorry.”

Alma laughed on the other end, and Dylan smiled, almost able to see her face. He wished he’d gotten to say more to her before the show. For all he knew, he may never see her again.

“Alright,” Austin said, “this is Chariot. I’m giving the go. Let’s do this, kids.”

Across the crowd, Dylan saw Lula and Merritt look at each other and nod, then turn out towards the crowd with winning smiles. Lula pulled a dove out of her sleeve and released it, and the crowd went wild.

“You guys like that?” Lula asked, the dove flying back to land on her head. “Because if you do, we’ve got plenty more up our sleeves!”

* * *

“I can’t believe this is your first Daiquiri, Danny,” Walter said with a laugh as Danny took another sip of his drink. It was pretty good, he had to admit, but at least it wasn’t real alcohol. He needed his wits about him tonight.

“It’s not even a real one,” Walter continued. “The real ones are fantastic.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not legally allowed to have real Daiquiris quite yet,” Danny said, talking fast, “and I’m pretty sure me and alcohol wouldn’t mix very well, so it’s probably for the best this is a virgin. Besides, it’s got a maraschino cherry, I love these things, they’re–”

“Danny!” Walter put his hands on Danny’s and laughed, Danny staring at him in confusion. “You’re talking so fast I can barely understand you, are you really that nervous?”

“Well, I mean–”

“Maybe I _should_ get you a real one, it’ll calm your nerves.”

Danny forced out a laugh and shook his head. “N-no, no I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m just… not exactly a party person, you know what I mean? I don’t really like crowds unless I’m in front of them.”

He was starting to twitch a little, and that wasn’t part of the act. It’d been a while since he’d been around this many people, with music this loud and drinks this good and a mission to save his and his family’s life on the line. Wait, what was that last part?

Walter squeezed his hand, and Danny forced himself to look at him. God, why did _he_ have to be the one to hang out with Arthur freaking Tressler’s son? Everyone else got to do cool things, and what was he? The bimbo. Typical.

“You know,” Walter said, “if you want to get away from the crowds, I’ve got plenty of good places to escape to. Care to join me?”

He smiled, a devilish look in his eyes, and the logical part of Danny’s brain started screaming _danger, danger, this is not a good idea_. But then again, wasn’t that his whole role in the mission? Get Walter away and alone and maybe work something out of him?

God, this was so uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Danny stuttered out, managing a smile. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

Walter winked and slipped off his barstool, pulling Danny off with him, and J. Daniel Atlas hoped to god that he’d be kidnapped or manage to escape before anything weird happened that he couldn’t un-live.

* * *

“Jack, where the _hell_ are you?”

Henley had managed to slip away in the chaos caused by Lula and Merritt’s show, but now she was wandering down one of the hallways trying to find Jack and failing. Miserably. _And_ trying not to be seen. The last thing she needed was some nosy kitchen boy seeing her and tattling to Walter’s bodyguards.

Henley’s earpiece suddenly crackled to life. “I’m in the basement, I left the door unlocked. And _use the codenames!”_

“Sorry, sorry.”

Henley ran through the blueprint of the mansion in her head. Where was she? Second… no, third corridor, right? Yeah, that was it. She set off through the house, only having to hide once from a server carrying an empty tray, and skirted around the kitchens to the basement door. It was unlocked and slightly ajar, just like Jack said; she slipped through and shut it behind her with a soft _click_ , slipping the penlight out of her sleeve.

“Death?” she whispered, flicking on the light. The basement was dark and probably filled with guards, but she had to find Jack before she did anything. “Death, come in.”

“Down the stairs, second left, Priestess,” Jack replied. Henley did as she was told. “I think I took care of the guards.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Only two?”

“Most of them are probably up at the party.”

Henley nodded, walking into the room, but part of her had a bad feeling about the lack of guards. Walter didn’t seem like the type to spare expenses, especially when it came to security.

“There you are.” Jack grinned at her, shining his own penlight at the large steel door in front of them. “This is the door to the computer room.”

“Let me guess: finger print, retinal scan, voice activation, top secret key code?” Henley shined her light on the wall next to the handle-less door. “Oh, well. I was right about three of them.”

“Definitely not something I can crack,” Jack said.

“Well, then what do we do?”

Jack just grinned again, looking for all the world like Death himself in the scarce lighting, and shined his penlight up to the ceiling.

There, smack dab in the middle, was a large ventilation shaft cover.

Henley glanced at Jack and grinned right back. Now they were getting somewhere.

* * *

“Check in,” Dylan said, “how’s everyone doing?”

“Death and I just got to the mainframe, ready to plant,” Henley replied.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Danny said, sounding casual. He probably had to slip it in while talking to Walter. “Oh, wow uh, your bedroom?”

Danny’s mic cut off, and Dylan could see Lula turn away from the gathered audience to stifle a laugh. Jack snorted into his mic.

“Poor Danny,” Henley said. “Hey Lover, try not to get too excited!”

“Priestess, please don’t antagonize him. He’s got the hardest job of any of us,” Dylan reminded her.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tease him about it.”

“How’s the outside doing?”

“Fine,” Fuller replied. “Chariot and Judgment are in the van, the Sun and I are in position. Ready when you are.”

“Good, we’re–”

“Wait.” That was Alma, her voice quiet. Everyone fell silent. “Is… is that–?”

“What? What is it?” Dylan asked.

“Justice, do you see what I’m seeing?” Alma asked.

“No, I–” Fuller began, but then he too fell silent. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit?” Dylan said.

“Guys, _what is happening?_ ” Austin asked.

“The FBI,” Alma answered. “They’re here.”

For a moment, Dylan was confused. Yeah, the FBI was here, that was the whole point. They were _working_ with the FBI.

Then he realized – the _FBI_ was here. Not just any FBI, Tressler’s FBI.

His blood ran cold.

_This wasn’t part of the plan._

“Hide,” he said. “Sun, Justice, hide. _Now_.”

“Shit!” yelled Fuller. A second later, faint shouting came through the mic, Fuller’s included, before there was a crunch and pop, and Fuller’s mic cut off completely. Dylan realized he’d been caught – which meant there was only one pair of eyes left outside the mansion.

“Fuller!” Austin yelled.

“Alma?” Dylan asked.

“Guys, what’s going on?” That was Jack. “Guys?”

“Alma, what’s happening?” Dylan shouted. “Alma!”

* * *

“I’m fine!” Alma hissed into her mic, ducking behind a tree. She could hear FBI agents yelling to each other as they scanned the front yard. “Use codenames, they might be listening!”

“Okay, sorry! What’s–”

“There is FBI everywhere. They have Fuller and the van, and they’re looking for me.”

“ _Shit_ ,” came Dylan’s reply. Alma had to agree; things were shaping up to be pretty shit. And she had to hide, fast, if she wanted to stay out of prison.

“What do we do?” Henley asked, voice shaking. “Can we even finish the plan without them?”

“Not all of it,” Dylan answered. His voice was shaking too. “Without Austin, our kidnapping plan has no guarantee of you kids getting out safe. That’s not an option anymore.”

“ _Shit_.” That was Jack. “Now what? That was half the plan!”

“I don’t know, okay? Just–”

“We need evidence,” Alma said suddenly, running and ducking behind a hedge as flashlight beams headed her direction. This spot wouldn’t last long – she had to hide, _really_ hide. But where on earth could she do that? “We just need hard evidence now, of all Tressler’s dealings and proof that Walter is a part of them.”

“So… we only need what we get from the computer mainframe?” Jack asked.

“Yes.” Alma sucked in some air, trying to calm herself down. _Think clearly, Alma_ , she thought. _Hide, then solve. You’re no good to the Horsemen caught and arrested_.

“So, this is literally just a hacker job now?” Merritt asked. “So much for Danny’s big debut.”

“Merritt, shut up!” Henley said. “How is he supposed to get out now? We were counting on him getting caught, now he doesn’t have an escape route!”

Just ahead, Alma could see a thin hole in the hedge wall that surrounded Walter Mabry’s garden and realized that’d be the best place to hide for the moment. She ducked inside and ran past a fountain, finding a small nook behind some bushes hidden in shadow, and paced nervously.

“He’s got an escape route,” Dylan said to Henley, “he just wasn’t planning on using it. He’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah I’m sure, Henley, he’s Danny.”

Alma heard a roar from someone’s mic, and realized the crowd inside was clapping; Lula and Merritt must have finished their performance in the foyer.

“Just don’t get kidnapped, okay guys?” Dylan continued. “Don’t get caught, don’t get killed. We don’t have a safety net anymore.”

“We’ve got it, Dylan,” Lula said over the applause. “Don’t worry. Plan 4C then?”

“Plan 4C.”

“What if we don’t all get out in time?” Jack asked, voice laced with worry. “What if Tressler gets us? Or the FBI?”

“They won’t, Jack,” Dylan said.

“But what if they do?”

“Just focus on the mission, or _none_ of us will get out, okay? We’ve still got half a plan, let’s use it.”

“How did Tressler even know to call the FBI in the first place?” Henley asked.

No one seemed to have an answer for that.

* * *

“You can’t do this!” Austin yelled. She wasn’t in handcuffs, but Fuller and Cowan were, and it looked like she might be in some soon anyway. Alma’s warning had given them enough time to wipe the computers, but now they were offline and Austin had no idea what was happening inside Mabry’s mansion. Not that what was happening inside their van was any better. “I’m the deputy director, I’m allowed to run private investigations.”

“And I’m allowed to investigate your investigations.”

Austin turned, hands curled into fists, and scowled at the face of FBI Director Paul Davis as he stepped inside the van. Paul Davis was her one superior, the dirtiest agent alive, and quite possibly her least favorite human being on the face of this earth. And he was standing in _her van_.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

“You know perfectly well what I’m doing,” Austin spat.

“Working with criminals to expose lies about one of the most powerful businessmen in the world?” Davis smirked. “I thought you were better than this.”

“I’m not working with any criminals.”

“Is that so?” Davis sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets, relaxed as could be. He had all the cards now, and Austin knew he’d gloat about this for years and years to come, if she let him. She had no intention of doing so. “We have reason to believe former Special Agent Dylan Rhodes is working for the Eye. Has been, in fact, since he joined the Bureau.”

“What reason?” Austin asked, ignoring the twist in her gut.

“Knew it,” Cowan muttered. Fuller grinded his heel into Cowan’s foot, which shut him up pretty quick, but the damage was done.

Davis glanced at the pair of agents and then back at Natalie. “Apparently,” he said with another smirk, “you did as well. And yet you worked with him anyway.”

“There’s no evidence he’s in the Eye, Davis,” Austin replied. “We don’t work in half-truths.”

“This whole case is built on half-truths, Austin.” He shook his head, disappointed, and Natalie’s blood began to boil. “Rhodes is a traitorous criminal who kidnapped four children and brainwashed them into a cult. And you’re trusting him more than you trust your own colleagues.”

“You don’t know any of that to be true,” Austin said.

“Oh, I do.”

“Why, because Tressler fed it to you down your leash?”

The van fell silent, and Davis’s eyes flared with anger; Austin, angry as she was, realized she’d made a mistake. God damn it, she’d been so close, so damn _close_ to nailing Arthur Tressler, and now it was falling apart at the finish line and she was losing it.

She couldn’t do this. Not to Fuller and Cowan. Not to Alma. Not even to Dylan, member of the Eye or not. So she shut herself up before she could do any more unnecessary damage.

It’d been a long time since she’d been this furious.

“I’m done with you,” Davis finally spat. God, she’d pissed him off. “You’re on suspension, all of you, until Internal Affairs figures out what to do with you.”

“What?” Fuller yelled. “That’s bullshit!”

“Take those two to Wilshire for interrogation,” he continued. Some agents dragged Fuller and Cowan out of the van – the two of them didn’t make it easy, but eventually they were pulled outside and the door slammed behind them, leaving Austin alone with Davis and three other agents. Save the sirens and shouting outside the van, it was silent.

She wanted to punch something, that something being Paul Davis’s face, but she knew that wouldn’t do any good. This was it. Everything she’d worked for was gone or going. And she’d ruined the lives of two incredible agents along with her.

 _Great job, Natty_ , she thought. _Great job._

“Alright, Austin.” Davis took a step closer, meeting Natalie’s eyes with a dangerous look. He was taller than her, a lot taller, and more built. And he had three other men in here with her. “You tell me what I want to hear, or I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.”

“Guess I’ll be kissing the sun goodbye, then,” Austin replied with a scowl.

He smirked. “You don’t even know the question.”

“I’m still not answering it.”

Paul Davis just sighed and shook his head. “You really should learn to control your anger.” He leaned in closer, getting right in her face, and Austin would’ve decked him if the two men behind her hadn’t grabbed her arms. “Just one question, Natalie, and if you answer, I might even let your agents go.

“Now tell me; where is Alma Dray?”


	28. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry

Merritt had a feeling the FBI would be storming the party fairly soon, so he figured he might as well get a drink. He and Lula’s roles were finished – all they had to worry about now was escaping and helping the others. _No need to get drunk_ , he thought, _just a little something to calm your nerves. Something good._

As he sat at the bar, he would’ve felt guilty about it, but he caught Lula’s eye from across the room, and she smiled and nodded. One drink was alright, at least to her. Besides, for all he knew, Merritt and the rest of his friends might die tonight. Might as well die a little tipsy.

 He ordered a whisky and drummed his fingers on the table, smiling as a few fans came up and expressed admiration. Merritt nodded, smiled, and deduced their entire personalities after a single sentence. None of them had any idea the FBI were outside, ready to skin him and the other Horsemen alive. The whisky came, the bartender sliding it down the bar like a professional, and he took a swig.

The alcohol hit him fast, but the taste hit him faster. God, he forgot how much he loved whisky. He also forgot how much alcohol tended to burn your throat when you swallowed it. Merritt really wasn’t used to this, was he. Though, considering he’d been sober for about a year now, he supposed that was a good thing.

He took another drink, enjoying the buzz; maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Then someone behind him spoke, and he froze.

“Some things never change, do they brosky?”

* * *

“How long does it have?” Jack asked, body tense. He was standing guard, listening at the door, while Henley watched the download bar on her magical hacking stick. It was close to finished.

“Two minutes, maybe,” she said. “There’s a lot of shit on here, you know.”

“I know, but we don’t have a ton of options after we get out of here,” Jack replied. “The whole mission is on us now.”

“God, don’t say that. I liked it better when we were decoys.”

“Decoys that downloaded sensitive information?” Jack asked, smiling.

“Shh. Decoys can be many things.”

“You think everyone else is okay?”

Henley nodded, ignoring the twist in her gut. “Yeah,” she said, “yeah, I think so. At least for now.”

“For now.” Jack swallowed and fidgeted, his fingers twitching. “Henley, I really don’t want to die.”

She glanced at him, all nerves and twitching and fear, and wished she could think of something to say that’d put him at ease. The loading bar on her stick went up – one more minute.

“Hey, they aren’t going to kill us,” Henley said. Jack gave her a look.

“Probably,” she corrected.

He took a shaky breath and went back to listening at the door. A moment later, he grew tense again.

“What?” Henley asked.

“Shh.”

The room fell silent, save for the constant humming of the computer mainframe and fans, and eventually, Henley heard it too. Footsteps, boots pounding down the stairs towards the computer room. And then a voice, just outside the door.

“If you kids are in there,” said the man outside the door, “you better start running.”

Jack and Henley looked at each other just as the stick’s final loading bar blinked to life. Done downloading. Mission complete.

The man began punching in the key code outside, and the two of them grabbed the hacking stick and ran.

* * *

“Are you always this tense, Danny? At this point I don’t think you’re physically capable of relaxing.”

That was true, actually, in any situation, but definitely this one. Obviously, Danny wasn’t doing too great a job at hiding his true feelings.

 _It’s a show_ , he kept thinking, replaying the mantra over and over in his head like it’d help. _It’s a show, it’s a show, it’s a show_.

That had stopped helping when the FBI showed up and took out a good 80% of their entire plan.

“Sorry, I’m…” He swallowed, looking around for something to knock Walter out with and trying to disguise it as nerves. That wasn’t too hard. But Walter’s bedroom seemed pretty empty of potential things-to-knock-someone-out-with. Disappointing. “It’s just I’ve… never really done this sort of thing before. Like… ever.”

Walter raised an eyebrow. “Ever?”

“Well, I mean, no.”

Walter smiled, like a shark about to devour its prey, and Danny wished he’d followed his gut and noped out of this like a true coward. He was simply not meant to be a secret agent. Acting only came naturally to him on a stage.

“Here.” Walter turned away and knelt down, opening the cabinet in his bedside table. There, nestled inside, was a straight up bottle of wine and some wine glasses – obviously, Walter Mabry had no qualms about ignoring the underage drinking laws.

Danny watched as he uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Danny and taking a sip from his own. _If he’s drinking it, it’s probably fine,_ Danny thought, taking a sip. It wasn’t the first alcohol he’d ever had, but it was the first wine he’d ever tasted. It wasn’t… bad. He took another drink, liking the burn in the back of his throat. His nerves began to calm – probably the alcohol. Was it supposed to work that fast? Danny had no idea.

“Good?” Walter asked. Danny nodded.

“I’ve never had wine before,” he admitted.

“Well, not all wine is this excellent,” Walter informed him, swirling his glass around with a smile. “This happens to be a very expensive vintage of a normally expensive reserve. You have good taste, Danny.”

Danny nodded and took another sip as Walter placed his glass on the bedside table.

“It’s really too bad I had to muddle it up with that sedative. Completely ruins the bouquet.”

Danny very quickly realized that the calming of his nerves wasn’t the alcohol’s doing – he was being drugged. And Walter had never really drunk any of his wine, he just faked it. Why hadn’t he noticed that sooner?

He stared at Walter, eyelids already beginning to fall, and the wine glass fell out of his hand and shattered on the wood floor below. Red wine spilled onto his black shoes and the bottom of Walter’s white pants, and Walter just tsked.

“Now, now,” he said, Danny stumbling away on shaky legs. “Not only was that wine expensive, but this suit was tailor made for me in Italy. You’ll have to pay for that.”

“You… bastard.” Dylan’s words kept playing over and over in Danny’s head. _Don’t get kidnapped._ _Don’t get kidnapped. Don’t get kidnapped_. Walter stepped in the spilled wine, broken glass crunching under his feet, and caught Danny when his knees bucked. Everything was going dark. He tried to struggle, but he was so tired his arms felt like lead. 

“Bastard?” Anger flashed in Walter’s eyes, and paired with the smile, it was enough to fill Danny’s drugged mind with fear. “You really shouldn’t call me that, Atlas. But you’ll learn that, in time. Oh, we’re going to have so much fun.”

“Dylan…” Danny said, trying to warn him, to tell him what was going on, to have someone save him, but everything was going too dark too fast.

“Danny? Danny, stay with me!” Dylan’s voice was tinny and far away, and then fingers reached into his ear and the voice was gone, and then his vision tunneled and Danny was gone too.

* * *

Merritt froze, staring into nothing, the grip on his glass tightening. He was _here?_ Why the hell was he _here?_ Why couldn’t he just leave him alone?

His brother Chase sat next to him at the bar and gave him a smile, eyes still tinged with a bit of psychopath. Merritt wanted to bolt, but he could feel two security guards come up behind him, and he had a feeling that option had just been flushed down the drain.

What was it that Dylan said? _Don’t get kidnapped?_

Welp.

“Now, let’s see,” Chase said, grabbing Merritt’s arm before he could move. He tried to jerk away, but Chase caught him in his gaze, clicked his tongue, and snapped. Suddenly, he couldn’t move.

“Gotta love that one, don’t you?” Chase said with a devilish grin. “Put that little paralysis trigger in your head back when we were kids. Remember me using it on you during tee-ball practice?”

In his earpiece, Merritt could hear Danny slurring his words, calling out for Dylan, and Dylan answering back before Danny stopped responding. Henley said something, but then Jack told her to run and she fell silent. They were dropping like flies.

“Get the _fuck_ off me,” Merritt growled at his brother. _Focus, stay focused._

It was getting harder by the second.

“Hmm, guess the paralysis still doesn’t stop you from running your mouth. Pity.” Chase tilted his head and grinned wider. “Now, let’s see. Why are you here? Just enjoying the party? Oh, no, obviously not.”

Merritt gritted his teeth, but there was nothing he could do except stare at Chase and try to move. How could he read him so well? How could Chase _always_ read him so well?

“Let’s see, you’re here because… ah, you know Walter is Arthur Tressler’s son, don’t you?” Merritt tried to keep the tell from flashing, but Chase smiled anyway. “Yep, figured. So, so predictable, Mer-Bear. And, what, you wanted to take down his big bad daddy so you and your little friends could live happily ever after? And I thought my life was sad. You’re just pathetic.”

“Merritt?” Lula’s voice asked in his earpiece. “Merritt! Dylan, Merritt’s in trouble, his–”

“Oops.” Chase plucked the piece out of his ear and dropped it into his whisky, the device making a sad fizzle-pop sound in the alcohol.

“Perfectly good waste of whiskey,” Merritt grumbled, ignoring the gnawing pit of imminent doom in his stomach.

“Hmm, too bad you wouldn’t have been able to drink the rest anyway.”

The front doors of the house suddenly flew open, and the FBI swarmed inside, party guests screaming and running towards the exits. Everything was in chaos now – that was good, it might give some of them a chance to escape.

Not Merritt though. Not anymore.

Chase snapped his fingers again and said, “Sleep,” and Merritt’s mind shut down with less resistance than he would’ve liked.

* * *

“Dylan!”

Lula ran up to him, fighting the crowds, and grabbed his sleeve. “Dylan, we have to save Danny and Merritt!” she said. “We can’t let Tressler hurt them, they’re–”

“I know, Lula, I’m working on it!”

The FBI began working their way towards them, and suddenly, Lula heard one of them shout, “I see Rhodes!” Dylan’s eyes widened and he shoved Lula away.

“Go!” he yelled. “Run!”

“But Dylan-!”

“Run, Lula!”

She stared at him for one more second, his eyes just as scared as hers, before turning around and sprinting through the crowd.

Dylan had never yelled at her like that before.

Lula ran up the big staircase in the back of the entrance hall and ducked down a hallway, FBI boots pounding upstairs behind her, every memory of the mansion’s blueprints gone from her mind. She burst into what seemed like a bedroom and ran straight to the balcony; maybe she could jump off? Maybe there was a pond underneath or something, maybe she’d be in luck, maybe, maybe, maybe. When she reached the railing, there was no pool underneath, but plenty of bushes. That would have to do. She climbed over the railing, dangled for a moment, and let go, falling painfully into the hedge underneath it.

Lula cried out in pain, tumbling out of the hedge and hitting the ground hard. She was covered in twigs and leaves and scratches, and she finally realized she was crying – had been crying, since Dylan yelled at her. But she was out of the house and could run, and that’s what mattered. Lula picked herself off up the ground and sprinted for the garden’s back entrance, knowing once she got through, she’d be home free.

Then someone grabbed her around the middle and yanked her up into the air, and Lula screamed.

* * *

Jack and Henley fell out of the vent with a pair of surprised shouts, landing in the gravel that lined the area immediately next to the house. They groaned and picked themselves up, Jack trying to get the pebbles off his elbows.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking around.

“The gardens,” Henley replied. Then she cocked her head and listened. “Sounds like the FBI got inside. Everyone’s running outside and screaming.”

“Do you think everyone else is okay?” Jack asked.

Henley didn’t respond – they’d both heard Danny and Merritt go down, and after that, the mics had cut off completely, probably thanks to Tressler’s FBI in the van. They really didn’t know what to think, and that scared Jack the most. He wanted to know if his family was okay, or not okay. He just wanted to _know_.

“Come on, we need to get out of here,” Henley said, taking his hand and running. They flitted between bushes and trees, skirting around a pond, trying to stay quiet in case there were agents inside the garden. The two of them made it to the back, away from the sirens and screaming, and Jack could see a gate in the back fence.

“There!” he said, moving towards it, but then a dark figure stepped out from behind a hedge and blocked the gate, like something out of a horror movie. He and Henley froze as the man tilted his head up, revealing his face in the moonlight, and Jack could almost feel Henley’s blood run cold.

How was he here? How did he know where to find them?

“Hello there, Reeves,” said Thaddeus Bradley. “Miss me?”

Henley grabbed Jack’s hand and ran back the other direction, and Bradley was right on their heels, moving much faster than Jack would’ve thought a man that old could.

“Move, Jack!” Henley yelled. “Go!”

She shoved him forward and Jack fell, scraping his arms on the concrete path, but he scrambled up and kept running. Then Henley screamed behind him, and he stopped and whipped around.

“Let me go!” Henley yelled, struggling, but Bradley had her tight and wasn’t letting her go anytime soon.

“Henley!” Jack yelled.

“Jack, run–!”

Bradley put a cloth over her nose and mouth, cutting her off before she could say anything else, and Henley’s movements became slow and sloppy. _Chloroform_ , Jack realized. _He’s drugging her with chloroform_.

He wanted to run forward and help, save Henley like a knight in shining armor, but she told him to run. And Jack knew couldn’t fight Thaddeus Bradley.

Then Henley went limp, Bradley’s eyes flashed up to meet his, and Jack turned around and ran.

He sprinted back into the gardens, not even knowing where he was going. All he knew was he had to get away, to run and hide and never get caught, just like it was before he found the Horsemen. Run, run away, run and never look back. Just keep running until your legs gave out, and then crawl. That’s all that ever kept him alive.

Then he heard Lula screaming and stopped dead.

“Let me go!” she shouted. To his right? Up ahead, to his right. “Let go of me!”

Jack followed her voice, trying to stay silent, and found himself at the garden fence, watching Lula getting dragged towards a police line by a pair of FBI agents.

“Lula,” he said, trying to think of a way, any way, he could help her out. He _had_ to help her. She was his best friend in the entire world, he couldn’t just let her get dragged away!

“Shit,” he said, trying to find a way over the fence. “Shit, okay, okay, you can do this Jack, just–”

“Gotcha!”

Jack yelled as a man grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the fence, another one snatching him up by his jacket. He screamed and struggled and tried his best to get away, but they were a pair of strong FBI agents and he was an underfed twelve-year-old boy; it wasn’t exactly fair.

“Let go, let go!” he yelled, kicking out at one of them.

“Calm down, kid, we’re FBI!”

“Get off me!”

Jack kept yelling, like that’d help anything, and the men managed to force him into handcuffs and pick him up off the ground, still kicking and screaming.

“Shit, just throw him in the truck with the girl, alright?” one of them said.

The other punched Jack in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and tossed him over his shoulder once Jack stopped struggling. He couldn’t focus enough to reach his lock picks; he couldn’t even _breathe_.

The FBI agent holding Jack shifted him over his shoulder and began carrying him towards the police line, the other following behind. Lula was still screaming up ahead, and Jack couldn’t help her. He couldn’t help anyone.

Everyone was gone.

“Can’t believe this kid’s a magician,” the smaller agent said.

The other man scoffed. “Not anymore.”

* * *

Dylan led the FBI on a wild goose chase through Walter’s house, hoping they’d go after him instead of Lula, before slipping into one of the servants’ corridors hidden in the walls and sneaking out that way. Inside the walls, he could hear men running around looking for him and the faint sound of sirens outside, but he couldn’t hear anything else. He couldn’t hear his kids screaming outside as people dragged them away. Maybe that was for the best.

The mics cut off just after the FBI burst through the doors, and Dylan had tossed his away in the servants’ corridors, knowing he’d no longer need it. He knew Danny and Merritt had been caught, but he didn’t know about Lula or Jack or Henley. Maybe they made it out, maybe they didn’t. God, he hoped they had.

But two of his kids were still caught, in the hands of a psychopath that’d hurt them in ways Dylan couldn’t even imagine.

And _he’d_ done that.

 _He’d_ let them do this crazy mission, pushed them when he shouldn’t have. He should’ve aborted everything when the FBI showed up, called it quits, gotten everyone out safe and sound before it was too late, Tressler and Walter be damned.

And now it was too late, and Dylan had royally fucked up, and his kids were gone and terrified and lost and it was all his fault. 

He popped out of a hidden side door and emerged in the enormous gardens behind Walter’s mansion, next to one of the bigger fountains. A little stone boy peed into the water and made an odd trickling sound that didn’t match the chaos outside. It felt surreal, and wrong, and stupid. Why the hell would Walter Mabry need a giant fountain in his backyard? Why would he need _more than one?_

He snuck away from the fountain and towards the trees, gravel crunching beneath his feet. The rendezvous wasn’t too far away, behind a gas station near the highway. All Dylan would have to do was escape through the back gate and hike along the road for a while, staying hidden in trees or going through people’s backyards. He’d done it before, as a magician and a thief and an FBI agent – he could do it again. He had to find his kids.

Then he saw something, a flash of blonde hair in a ponytail, blue eyes peeking out from behind a tall bush, and froze.

Behind him, a gun cocked loud enough to wake the dead.

“Best not move, Mr. Rhodes. Hendricks here has a rather itchy trigger finger.”

The man had a British accent and spoke like he owned the world, but even without the accent, Dylan would’ve known his voice anywhere. He’d memorized it, just like he’d memorized Thaddeus Bradley’s, like he’d memorized every detail of every step of the plan he’d made to take down the people who’d wronged his family.

Alma’s blue eyes stared out at him from behind the bush, hidden to everyone but him, and Dylan felt so lost he couldn’t breathe.

“Well.” Feet crunched on gravel behind him, circling around to his front, as the man with the gun – Hendricks – dug the barrel of said gun into Dylan’s back. He _really_ did not want to get shot. “If I were a betting man, Mr. Rhodes, I certainly wouldn’t bet on you. You never really seem to win.”

Arthur Tressler stopped in front of Dylan, smiling, as the other four members of his little security detail surrounded them. Hendricks still had his gun lodged in Dylan’s back. And Alma was still hidden in the shrubbery, looking out at the scene, Dylan willing her with every ounce of his soul to stay that way.

“I, on the other hand, seem to win a great deal of the time,” Tressler continued. “Seems today is no exception.”

“Let them go,” Dylan spat.

Tressler cocked his head to the side in mock confusion. “Let who go?”

“My _kids_ , Tressler, let them go.”

It was silent for a moment, and then Tressler laughed. And Dylan’s stomach twisted like a pretzel – _he’d made a mistake_.

“Your kids?” Tressler asked, still laughing. “But my dear boy, they aren’t really _your_ kids, are they? You just picked them up off the side of the road. Drove them around the country in a van for a year. Technically speaking, that’s called kidnapping.”

Dylan gritted his teeth. “That’s not –”

“Oh, I believe it is.” Tressler smirked, like he knew everything in the world, and Dylan suddenly had the inescapable need to punch him in the eye. “They’re kidnapped children, Mr. Rhodes, and you stole them from their families.”

“No, I–”

“Oh, that’s right, they don’t have families, do they?” Tressler shook his head, almost disappointed. “How easy it must’ve been to make them see you as more than just a man using them for his own benefit.”

“I wasn’t _using_ them,” Dylan growled.

“Oh, you certainly were. You took innocent children with no families of their own and gave them a home, just to fill the hole in your life. How… sad.”

“That’s, that’s not what – shut _up_.”

 “Who are the Horsemen, Mr. Rhodes?” Tressler finally asked. “A pickpocket, a circus freak, a drunk, a privileged runaway, a boy with control issues and a need for the spotlight, and you, the liar and criminal they consider their father.” He smirked. “You’re a ragtag group of mismatched souls, Mr. Rhodes. You’re nothing.”

“We’re a family.”

Tressler just smiled and shook his head. “Oh, Dylan,” he sighed, “your family has been dead for a long time.”

Dylan tried to lunge at him, but two members of Tressler’s security detail grabbed his arms and held him back. Hendricks pressed the gun to the back of his head, and he stopped struggling.

_Your family has been dead for a long time._

“Shut up,” he hissed to himself. To Tressler’s voice digging its way into his head. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“You really are pathetic, aren’t you,” Tressler said, disappointed. “I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. Lionel Shrike’s sad, orphaned son, who wishes oh so badly to avenge his father.” He paused, smirking. “Or wait, is it your mother? Or is it something else entirely?”

“My mother _died_ because of your company!” Dylan yelled.

“Your mother had cancer, Mr. Rhodes. She would’ve died anyway.”

Dylan tried to lunge at him again, but the men holding him twisted his arms until he cried out and gave up. Tressler just chuckled and studied his cuticles; Dylan suddenly felt like he was drowning.

“There’s a common misconception,” Tressler began, “that I don’t care about anyone but myself.”

“Misconception?” Dylan asked.

“Yes,” he continued. “I care about much more than my own skin. Money, for example. And security. And the ability to do whatever I so please.”

Dylan scoffed, but Tressler wasn’t finished.

“I care about Walter a great deal, as one might expect,” he said, “though obviously I couldn’t do so publically. I care about his safety, and his upbringing, and the man he will become.” Then he looked Dylan dead in the eye. “And most of all, I care about making an example of those who’ve wronged me.”

Dylan narrowed his gaze – he was talking about the Eye.

“You and your… secret society cost me a great deal of money many years ago,” Tressler said. “I felt it only fair to, well, return the favor.”

“You were trading drugs and illegal arms, Tressler,” Dylan said through gritted teeth.

“Allegedly,” he replied.

“We took your money because you didn’t deserve it. Getting rich off third world wars and heroin? You really think anyone would let that stand?”

“Would they?”

“The Eye fights corruption wherever it is, Tressler,” Dylan said. “You brought that upon yourself.”

“And your little cult stole money from who would soon be one of the most powerful men in the world,” he replied. “I’d say you brought this upon yourselves as well.”

“We’re not a cult.”

“Oh, then what are you? A secret society? A yacht club?”

“We’re the Eye, Tressler,” Dylan snarled. “And mark my words, you will pay for everything you’ve ever done. Starting with killing my mother.”

Tressler fell silent, and Dylan, for a moment, thought he’d actually gotten to him. But then he saw the glint in his eye, a glint that told him something was off, something was wrong, this was exactly how Tressler had wanted this to go.

For the breadth of a second, everything was quiet.

Then a man stepped out from behind a bush, holding a recording device, and came into the light.

“Oh, Dylan,” said FBI director Paul Davis. He was smiling – Dylan felt his stomach drop into his shoes.

“That was just too easy.”

* * *

Alma didn’t want to watch, but she knew she had to. She watched the FBI director step into view, Dylan’s face fill with fear, and an FBI agent sneak up behind him and taze him before he could move. She saw Dylan collapse to the ground with a choked scream, twitching, and more FBI agents emerge from the bushes to cuff him and take him away. She saw Paul Davis shake hands with Arthur Tressler before following Dylan and his men out, while Tressler simply smiled and headed back into his house, saying he should open up a bottle of champagne.

But most of all, she saw Dylan’s face when the FBI dragged him away, eyes staring right at her through the bushes, just barely shaking his head.

_Don’t._

Alma wanted to tell him to stick it up his ass, she would rescue him and damned be the consequences, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. For all she knew, the FBI didn’t even know she was here, and even if they did, they hadn’t found her yet. With Dylan gone, she was their last hope.

The FBI dragged Dylan to an armored transport truck, his body still limp from the tazer, and opened up the back. Inside, she could hear Jack and Lula, kicking and yelling when they saw Dylan. Dylan’s body stayed limp, his head down. Ashamed.

 _Don’t,_ Dylan said, and Alma had to fight to listen to him. _Don’t._

The men loaded him in and shut the doors behind him, cutting off any sound left to hear from the inside, cutting off Jack and Lula and Dylan from the world and everyone else. Alma watched as it drove away, followed closely by Austin’s FBI van and several patrol cars. One of them was occupied by Paul Davis and an upset Natalie Austin. Fuller and Cowan were nowhere to be found.

It was just her, now. Everyone else was gone.

 _Don’t_ , Dylan said. _Don’t._

So she didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	29. Hitting Bottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's ready to start their week with a dose of Straight Up Hell

Danny woke up coughing in a cold stone cellar, sore and bruised and handcuffed to a steel pole, and the first thing he noticed was that all of his lock picks were missing.

“Shit,” he hissed, voice shaking. He checked both sleeves, his back pockets, even the ones sewn into the seam of his boxers, but they were gone, all of them. Danny had never been good at picking locks – Jack had tried to teach him, but it was never as easy to Danny as cards and coins were, so he sort of abandoned it – but he’d still kept some lock picks around for safety, as a last-ditch effort for escape. Now they were gone too.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Danny never thought he’d actually be happy to hear that voice. “Merritt?” he rasped, eyes still adjusting to the darkness.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Merritt was right across from him, not even that far away, grimacing and in a similar position to Danny. “God, you’d think they’d at least keep us somewhere heated, it isn’t the damn middle ages.”

Danny managed a laugh at that, albeit a short one, and it was cut off by a cough. He was feeling kind of dizzy, and his head felt warm. Uncomfortably warm.

“I feel like shit,” he said, his voice like gravel.

“You’re sick,” Merritt said. “The wet and cold down here aren’t doing you any favors.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ah, there he is, the Atlas we all know and love.”

Danny shook his head, still managing to smile. “How long have you been talking to yourself in the dark?”

“You mean how long have I been awake? About ten minutes. They haven’t come down to check on us yet.”

“You think they will soon?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Danny heaved a shaky sigh and leaned his head back, hitting the pole behind him with a dull clang. The gravity of their situation was starting to hit him now, really hit him. This was what they’d been running from for a year, and now they were here, chained up in what was probably Arthur Tressler’s basement, waiting for he and his men to do god knows what to them.

His FBI gadgets were gone too, he realized. There really wasn’t any hope now, was there?

“Shit,” he hissed, staring at the ceiling. It was dark, and that was about all Danny could tell. “Shit, I don’t want to die down here, Merritt.”

“They’re not gonna kill us, Danny.”

“Really? Why wouldn’t they?”

He didn’t have a response to that.

Suddenly, a door to their left creaked open, spilling bright yellow light into the cellar and blinding both Danny and Merritt. They _were_ in a basement – a set of rickety wooden stairs descended from the door to where they were sitting, on a concrete slab of flooring with boxes piled in the corners. When Danny managed to squint back up at the doorway, he saw two silhouettes – he didn’t even have to see their faces to know who they were.

“Oh good, they’re awake,” said Walter Mabry. Danny could hear the grin in his voice, the psychotic tinge in his smile, and suddenly wished he could be anywhere else but here. “Come on, Chase. It’s about time we had some fun.”

* * *

Henley managed to fake unconsciousness for two minutes before Thaddeus Bradley realized she was awake.

She learned a decent amount in those two minutes, but not enough to help her escape – for now, at least. Her hands and feet were bound with rope, with more wrapped tight around her torso, and she was lying in the backseat of a shoddy car that smelled like fast food and weed. Outside, buildings passed through the window, ones she recognized – they were still in L.A., probably so Bradley could dump her with her parents and collect his reward. It was still nighttime too, and in the distance, she could hear sirens; according to Thaddeus’s car clock, she’d only been passed out for ten minutes. The handkerchief gag in her mouth tasted like wet cardboard, and she was hungry.

In the front seat, Thaddeus Bradley seemed to be arguing with someone on the phone.

“We made a deal,” he said. A pause. “I’m delivering Reeves to you afterwards, just as we agreed, aren’t I?” Another pause. “How was I supposed to keep track of all of them while your men _and_ the FBI started scooping them up?”

Henley had a hunch as to what he was talking about, but she kept silent, listening. Bradley seemed to be getting more and more pissed.

“I want my money. You aren’t getting Reeves if I don’t have it.” Pause. “That’s–” Another pause, like he was interrupted, and then he cursed and dumped the phone in the cup holder next to him. The other line had disconnected.

Bradley kept fuming, his knuckles whitening as he clutched the steering wheel, and Henley closed her eyes and went back to pretending to sleep. No need to “wake up” when her captor was in a bad mood.

She counted the seconds in her head – half a minute, one, two. At two and a half minutes, Henley groaned and shifted, like she was just now waking up, and cracked her eyes back open. Bradley glared at her in his rearview mirror.

“Look who finally woke up,” he said. “Welcome back, Reeves.”

She glared back in response, unable to talk through the makeshift gag, and tried twisting out of her ropes. But as good of an escape artist as she was, she already knew it’d take her at least an hour to loosen the ropes enough for her to escape.

Bradley just chuckled, eyes flicking between her and the road. “No use trying to get out,” he said. “I’ve been tying up magicians for quite a while, I know all the tricks and then some.”

Henley grunted and kicked at the door, annoyed. Whatever. She could escape once he was gone, sneak out of the house again and go save her real family. It’d be harder now – she had no doubt her parents had probably installed numerous security measures to keep her from doing exactly what she planned – but she was Henley Reeves. She could do anything if she put her mind to it.

“Oh, don’t get too upset, Reeves, I’m a master magician catcher.” He smirked out through the windshield. “Used to be a master magician, too, in fact. Didn’t you know?”

She didn’t, and that must’ve shown in her face, because Thaddeus’s smug grin grew at her reaction.

“Ah, you didn’t. Dylan probably knew, or at least suspected. Not sure why he didn’t tell you.”

Henley knew perfectly well why he wouldn’t have told her – it never came up, and it wasn’t important. Thaddeus Bradley wasn’t a magician anymore; he was an enemy and he was after her, and that was all that mattered. She wasn’t going to let some sideways comments about Dylan waver her loyalty, especially coming from Thaddeus Bradley.

She kept glaring at him, hoping he’d get that she could see through all his shit, and Bradley eventually sighed and shook his head. When they stopped at a stoplight, he reached back and pulled the gag out of her mouth, dropping it on the floor. Henley wiped the drool that’d come out with it on her shoulder and stretched her mouth, trying to get the taste out.

“Why’d you gag me?” she asked.

“Didn’t want your obnoxious mouth running the whole drive to the Reeves residence.”

She huffed, gritting her teeth, and twisted so she was on her back and staring at the car ceiling. One of the ropes was starting to loosen, and one of the knots along with it. She started tugging.

“So,” she said. “If you were such a great magician, why’d you turn into a P.I.? Thought you could make more money that way?”

“There’s nothing wrong with making money, Reeves.”

“There is when it’s at the expense of others, Bradley.”

He paused, his grip on the wheel tightening again, but otherwise ignored her statement. “There are plenty of reasons.”

“How long ‘til we reach my parents’ house?”

“Two minutes.”

“Give me the most important one, then.”

It was silent, for a moment, and Henley wondered if he’d answer her at all. Thaddeus Bradley wasn’t exactly the sharing type. The monologue type, sure, but not about himself.

“I was a great magician,” he finally said, after silence had filled the car. He made a turn, and Henley recognized the roofs of the houses she could see through the window – they were close to her old home. “I could flip cards, bend spoons, make someone float in the air like it was child’s play. I had tricks up my sleeves that’d never before been performed. But people didn’t care about my magic, and I couldn’t make any money. No one wanted to watch my performances. No one paid any attention to me, and I got stuck suffering from it.

“And then I learned about the Eye, and I practiced and performed and waited, waited for _years_ for them to recruit me. And they never did. Because I wasn’t good enough for them. So instead I decided to use my skills in another career path, and look where I am now.”

“A bitter old man trying to fill the void in his life by ruining everyone else’s,” Henley replied. “I see perfectly well where you are.”

Thaddeus Bradley slammed on the brakes before Henley could react, and she almost fell off the car seats and onto the floor. Bradley stopped her before she could, twisted around in his seat, one hand on her shoulder. The other was holding a knife.

For a moment, Henley seriously thought he was going to gut her, right here, in a car on the side of the road. What a way to end it.

Then he un-tensed his jaw and gave her a withering glare.

“Stay still.”

Bradley used his knife to cut through her ropes, starting with her feet and ending with her hands. Henley rubbed the redness around her wrists, now sitting up, and looked around to see if she could escape.

Even through the car windows, Henley could see a giant stone fence surrounding everything, and she knew immediately where she was. Only her family had a front yard like this. The gate they must’ve driven through – a back gate, one Henley had only used once or twice before – had closed behind them. There were guards everywhere.

Through the windshield, she could see her parents, standing in the enormous front doorway, arms crossed and faces enraged. Her father was holding a briefcase probably full of money. Her mother was tapping her foot impatiently.

Henley could hear her heart racing in her chest. It was so loud she thought for sure Bradley could hear it too.

“Welcome home, Henley,” Thaddeus said, slipping his knife back into his coat pocket. “They’ve been waiting for you.”

* * *

The ride to the FBI headquarters felt longer than it was, but all that meant for Jack was more torture. His hands were shaking so badly he would’ve dropped the lockpicks he could’ve used to escape, not that he could’ve escaped anyway. There were two other agents in here with them, in S.W.A.T. gear with tazer batons, and the truck was locked from the outside. They’d need a miracle to escape out of here.

Besides, he wasn’t leaving Lula and Dylan behind. Not after leaving Henley. He’d rather be stuck in here together than out there alone.

“Dylan?” Lula asked, her voice quiet. Dylan was sitting across from them, hands cuffed behind his back, staring at his knees. “Dylan, what’s gonna happen to us?”

He took a shaky breath, and Jack didn’t like that Dylan wouldn’t meet their eyes. Dylan was their leader, he was strong and brave and would always protect them no matter what, right? Why wasn’t he looking at them?

But Jack knew better than anyone that people couldn’t protect you forever.

“I don’t know,” Dylan whispered. His voice was hoarse – Jack realized he was trying not to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“Dylan, it’s not your fault,” Jack said immediately. All their voices were hushed, as if speaking quietly would keep the agents two feet away from hearing them. Or maybe they were all just too scared to talk normally, like that was a crime now too. “It’s, it’s not, okay? It’s not.”

Dylan just smiled sadly and kept his head down, and both Jack and Lula knew what that meant. They could say whatever they wanted, and Dylan would still blame everything on himself. That’s just how he was.

The problem was, it _was_ a little his fault, and Jack and Lula knew it. He could’ve aborted the mission, but he didn’t, and now here they were. But he’d made the wrong choice for the right reasons, and no one could fault him for that.

No one but Dylan himself, at least.

“H-hey, you guys,” Lula said, staring at the agents. Their visors were down, and you couldn’t see their faces, but their heads turned to her when she spoke. “Do you, d-do you know what’s gonna happen to us?”

“Lula.” Dylan’s voice broke. “Don’t–”

“It’s not for us to decide,” one of them said.

“But, but what do you _think_ –”

“For you two, it’s up in the air,” said the other. “Juvy, foster care, who knows. As for him–” He jerked his head towards Dylan. “I doubt he’ll see the light of day again after this.”

Lula’s big green eyes widened, staring at Dylan and trying not to cry, but Jack was suddenly lost in his own mind.

 _Foster care_ , they said. _Foster care_.

Oh god, he couldn’t go back.

 _They were going to send him back_.

“N-no,” he whispered, starting to rock, and then he couldn’t stop. “No, no, no, no, no no nonononono–”

“Jack?” Lula asked, her voice filled with fear.

“Kid?” One of the agents turned to Dylan, who was already halfway out of his seat. “What’s he doing?”

“Jack, hey,” Dylan said, moving towards him, but the agents grabbed his arms and made him sit down with a bang. The noise made Jack jump, and memories resurfaced in his mind.

_Shattered glass. Blue pills. His father’s belt._

Jack started shaking. “No, no, no, make it stop make it stop _make it stop_.”

“Jack!” Dylan pulled against the guards, but they wouldn’t budge. “Let me go, I need to help him!”

“Kid, calm down!” one of the agents said, but the yelling made it worse.

_His dad yelling, screaming, hitting him, over and over and over. Finding his mom, cold on the bathroom floor, holding an empty pill bottle. The tiles were white with blue flowers. One of them was cracked._

“ _Stop it_.” Jack was crying, rocking back and forth, Lula moving to help him but an agent grabbing her arm before she could. “Stop it, stop it, I don’t want to go back, I can’t go back, _I can’t go back_ –”

“Let me go, I need to help him!” Lula yelled.

“Jack!” Dylan said again. “Jack, listen to me, listen to my voice!”

_A person wearing a suit at his classroom door, saying he was going away, he was safe now. Jack believed him. He shouldn’t have believed him._

“Dylan, make it stop make it stop I can’t go back don’t let the make me go back–”

“I won’t! I won’t, I promise, please Jack, just look at me!”

 _Green spaceman sheets and chocolate cake. Smiles full of teeth and cold hands. Kids crying in the middle of the night, the man grunting and sighing, coming for Jack next, always coming for him next, nowhere was safe, his hands were everywhere, big and cold and hurting and_ wrong _and Jack was crying so hard he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe–_

“Jack!”

Dylan’s voice shocked him out of the memories for a moment, and then Jack opened his eyes and Dylan was there, staring at him, holding his head in his hands and holding him steady, anchoring him like a lifeline.

“Look at me,” he breathed, and Jack did. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise, it’s gonna be okay. Jack?”

He couldn’t speak, his lower lip trembling, and then suddenly he could.

“Dylan I can’t go back please don’t make me go back–”

“I’m not gonna let them take you back, I promise, Jack.” His eyes were truthful and solid and the waves of Jack’s memory started to recede, pulling back and leaving him shaking and scared, tears streaming down his face. One of Dylan’s wrists still had the handcuffs dangling from it. Lula was holding his hands so tight he couldn’t feel them anymore.

“But, but Dylan–”

“I _won’t_ ,” he said, firmly, almost dangerously, and Jack knew that threat wasn’t aimed at him, but at the people around them. “I swear, Jack. They’re never going to hurt you again.”

His breathing came back, shaking and short but there, at least it was there.

And then everything crashed down at once, and Jack started crying.

He cried so hard he started hiccupping, and then he cried more, and Dylan pulled Jack into his chest and rocked him on the floor, holding him tight like he’d never let go of him again. Lula knelt on the floor with them, rubbing Jack’s back. The S.W.A.T. men didn’t know what to do.

“It’s okay,” Dylan said, over and over, until the truck stopped and the doors opened, and the men outside saw Dylan Rhodes hugging a crying twelve-year-old boy on the floor of an armored truck. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t, and Jack knew that. Even if he wasn’t sent back, it wouldn’t be okay. Not now, not ever. Not unless they were saved.

When the men came inside and pulled Dylan away, Jack and Lula sat on the metal floor and watched him disappear from view, crying and shaking and wishing things were right. It wasn’t fair, _nothing_ was fair. Dylan was the first good thing Jack had known, _either_ of them had known, and now he and the rest of the Horsemen were gone, and for all they knew, they were never coming back.

When the FBI pulled Jack and Lula out of the truck and put them in a holding cell together, they cried until they fell asleep, wrapped up together in a corner of the room.

When Dylan was left in his holding cell alone, he put his head in his hands and cried too.

* * *

Alma had been at the gas station five minutes when a black SUV with tinted windows showed up, driven by a teenage boy.

He was Asian, probably Chinese, with spikey black hair and a leather jacket, all of which Alma saw once he stepped out of the car. He looked about Danny’s age, though he was almost as tall as Alma in her one-inch heels. The boy looked around, caught sight of Alma standing near the pay-to-vacuum contraption, and gestured her to come closer.

Alma had crossed the concrete lot and was standing next to the car before she could think her actions through.

“We’re very sorry,” the boy said in accented English. “We’re going to get them back.”

“Who are you?” Alma asked. “How do you know me?”

The boy smiled, a sad little thing that told Alma there was more underneath it, and put his hand on the car’s back door handle.

“As my grandmother would say,” he said, “Alma Dray, we’ve been watching you for a long time.”

The boy opened the door, gesturing Alma in, and inside the car was an old Chinese woman, hands in her lap, her eyes betraying the worry she tried to hide in the calm of her face.

“Alma Dray,” the woman said, her English accented as well. “I am Bu Bu, and this is my grandson Li. We are a part of the Eye. And we three have much to discuss if we are to save the Horsemen.”


	30. The Answers You Seek

She got the news in her interrogation cell, from the mouth of Paul Davis, and it really didn’t surprise her much at all.

_Natalie Austin, Ben Fuller, and Matthew Cowan are hereby on suspension until an official investigation by the Internal Affairs department determines their future. They are to be held for further interrogation until that time._

It was about as bad as Austin thought it’d be. They were prisoners until Arthur Tressler made a phone call, and then the three of them would likely end up in front of a bribed judge and sentenced to twenty years in federal prison. So much for a promising career in the FBI. So much for a future.

The worst part wasn’t that, though, surprisingly enough; the worst part was the recording Davis played for her afterwards.

Natalie looked up at Davis’s smug face as he sat down at the table after delivering the verdict, slapping a tape in front of her like a piece of hard evidence. Well, it probably was hard evidence, at least to Davis, but that was beside the point. He hit play on the device, and Austin immediately recognized the voice that came out of it.

_“Best not move, Mr. Rhodes. Hendricks here has a rather itchy trigger finger.”_

Tressler.

“What is this?” she asked.

Davis tilted his head and gave her a look. “Listen,” was all he replied.

So Natalie Austin listened.

_“If I were a betting man, Mr. Rhodes, I certainly wouldn’t bet on you. You never really seem to win.”_

_“My_ kids _, Tressler, let them go.”_

_“Technically speaking, that’s called kidnapping.”_

_“I wasn’t_ using _them.”_

She didn’t understand why Davis was playing her a tape of Rhodes talking to Arthur Tressler. He obviously didn’t betray them to him, and he wasn’t secretly on friendly terms with Tressler, so what–?

_“Oh Dylan, your family has been dead for a long time.”_

Natalie Austin’s blood ran cold.

“What’s going on?” she asked Davis, more scared and confused than she’d have liked to admit. Davis didn’t say anything, just tilted his head with the barest hint of a smile. _Keep listening_ , it said. She wanted to punch him.

 _“You really are pathetic, aren’t you?”_ said Tressler on the tape. _“I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. Lionel Shrike’s sad, orphaned son, who wishes oh so badly to avenge his father. Or wait, is it your mother? Or is it something else entirely?”_

 _“My mother_ died _because of your company!”_ Dylan.

_“Your mother had cancer, Mr. Rhodes. She would’ve died anyway.”_

“Who’s Lionel Shrike?” Austin asked. Her head was spinning – either Davis had fabricated this to mess with her head, or Dylan really wasn’t the man she thought he was after all. But this… this wasn’t how she wanted to find out, if it was even true.

Davis, infuriatingly, said nothing again, and Austin realized this was his own special form of torture. Showing her the truth, or what he wanted her to believe was the truth, barefaced and alone with no one to lean on. This was what Dylan had been hiding. She knew he’d been hiding something, and now she knew what it was.

But the recording wasn’t finished, and Davis’s little smile was still telling her to listen.

Natalie Austin listened, listened as Tressler dug under Dylan’s skin, twisting and pushing until he made him expose his place in the Eye without even realizing it. This recording sealed Dylan’s fate – both in court and in Austin’s mind. He really was a part of the Eye. He’d been lying to them all along, and she hadn’t even realized. None of them had.

The betrayal stung deep, deeper than Austin realized. Dylan Rhodes had been her role model in the academy. Now Dylan Shrike was a condemned criminal.

 _“Mark my words,”_ Dylan said, _“you will pay for everything you’ve ever done. Starting with killing my mother.”_

At least he hadn’t lied about that.

Davis turned off the tape and slipped it back into his pocket, standing up from the table, but Natalie was too busy lost in thought to notice, staring at her hands and running things over in her mind. Dylan was Dylan, but Dylan wasn’t Dylan. He’d been playing them the whole time, and he’d still gotten caught. And now he was losing those kids he cared so much about, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But he cared about those kids more than he cared about himself – that had never been a lie. Austin knew that. And for some reason, the thought was a comforting one.

“You betrayed the FBI for a traitor working with a cult,” Davis said, opening the cell door to leave. “Think about that.”

He shut the door behind him with a slam, and Austin kept staring at her hands, trying to sort out her feelings.  

* * *

“Who are you?”

The old lady, Bu Bu, gave Alma a look and sighed. “I told you,” she said, “my name is–”

“I know your names, I know you’re in the Eye,” Alma said, holding onto the handlebar above the car door. Li seemed to be intentionally hitting every pothole from here to… wherever they were going. “What do you do in the Eye? How close are you with the Horsemen?”

“Very close,” Bu Bu said. “Or, at least, I was with Dylan. I was his… not mentor, exactly, but… superior, I suppose. He was my ward in the Eye once he joined. I gave him orders and information and supplies, and he did as I said.”

“So you were his commander,” Alma said.

Bu Bu smiled. “That word has the right definition but the wrong implications,” she replied. “I told him what to do, yes, just as the council tells me what to do, but he… I care deeply about him, Agent Dray, him and those children. That is indisputable.”

Alma searched her face for any trace of a lie, and when she couldn’t find one, she turned away and looked out the window. Somehow, this felt… wrong, like she was intruding on someone else’s life instead of safe in her own. This was a world of secrets and magic that she simply wasn’t prepared for. It was Dylan’s world, not hers. Not yet.

“Are you a leader in the Eye?” Alma asked.

Bu Bu didn’t answer, and she was silent for long enough that Alma turned to look at her again, concerned. The old woman was staring at her hands, clasped together in her lap.

“That is… complicated,” she answered.

“How complicated could it be?” Alma asked, starting to get annoyed. She didn’t want cryptic answers – she wanted _answers_. “Are you or are you not?”

“It is–”

“My grandmother was on the leading council for many years,” Li said from the front seat, interrupting them both. He ran over another pothole and winced. “Then she… disobeyed orders, and was removed from her position.”

Alma turned back to Bu Bu, cautious. “What orders?” she asked.

“Orders to allow Dylan Shrike to destroy himself in a quest for revenge,” Bu Bu said quietly. “And to leave five candidates out in the open for Tressler to take as he pleased.”

The car fell silent again, Alma blinking in surprise.

“ _You_ ordered Dylan to find the Horsemen,” she said. “And… wait, the Eye _didn’t_ –”

“Tressler and our other enemies have made more of an impact on our organization than we would like to admit,” Bu Bu said with a sigh, twisting one of the rings on her fingers. “In fact, many of the leaders are adamantly in denial about how little we have left. They are old, and frightened, and were too scared of risking one of our few good assets to pick up five possibly useless ones.” Then Bu Bu smiled cunningly. “I may be old and frightened, just as they are, but at least I am not so frightened as not to act.”

Alma had to smile at that.

“So you disobeyed orders to keep Dylan where he was,” Alma said, “and instead sent him across the country in a van filled with magician children.”

Bu Bu winced. “Yes, well. It was supposed to be more… clandestine than it became.”

“They painted their names on the side of the van.”

“I did not tell him to do that.”

Alma shook her head, not sure if it was at Bu Bu or Dylan’s lack of foresight. Maybe both. “How did you keep Tressler from finding them?” she asked.

Bu Bu smiled again, that same mischievous smile, and glanced at her grandson.

“Do you know the purpose of the magician’s assistant, Agent Dray?” she asked.

Alma shook her head.

“The assistant,” Bu Bu explained, “is there to distract the audience while the real trick is set up. Diversion and deception, these are two skills any magician must master. And I employed both to keep the Horsemen safe. Along with the help of my grandson.”

Li smiled in the rearview mirror and gave Alma a little wave.

“How?” Alma asked.

“I became part of Tressler’s organization for the past year,” Li replied. “It wasn’t my grandmother’s idea, but I wanted to help, so I… joined without telling her.”

“Yes, that caused quite a few complications,” Bu Bu said, somewhat bitter.

Li shrugged sheepishly. “The Eye thought I had betrayed them for Tressler, but I managed to get secret messages out to my grandmother, and she convinced them I was not. I am still only a teenager, so they were not too worried about losing me.”

“One of their many faults,” Bu Bu muttered. Alma had the feeling she was talking about more than just her grandson.

“I played the part and distracted Tressler from the Horsemen for as long as I could,” Li continued. “He likes to take a personal interest in any new recruit. And it wasn’t too hard to redirect his interest anyway, with outside help. A few of Bu Bu’s friends in the Eye went out and acted as distractions for Tressler, causing him to focus on Europe and Asia instead of America. And any time they got wind of the Horsemen, I would sneak into the computer mainframe and delete all their files.”

“Wow.” Alma was more than a little surprised. “How old are you?”

“Almost seventeen. I am very good at espionage.” Li smiled. “And hand-to-hand combat.”

Bu Bu rolled her eyes. “Humility, Li,” she said.

“These are just facts, grandma, I shouldn’t lie to our guest.”

She just sighed and turned to Alma. “He is always like this.”

Alma smiled and shook her head. “All teenage boys are like this,” she replied, “if I learned anything from Danny this past week.”

Bu Bu smiled, and then her smile turned melancholy. Alma felt the emotions in the car shift.

“What happened at Oglethorpe?” Alma asked.

“It was… a chance meeting,” Li replied. “Walter happened to see their van and… You know the rest. They were making plans that night, mobilizing people, and one of the guards caught me spying. I had to run.” Li drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “If… if I had stayed–”

“They would have killed you,” Bu Bu answered, her voice wavering. “And I was not about to let that happen.”

“But, nainai–”

Bu Bu said something in Chinese, and Li fell silent, conceding. He seemed so ready to risk his own life to save others – it reminded Alma of the Horsemen.

“We did our best, after that, but…” Bu Bu sighed. “You know as well as we do how that went.”

Alma remembered Thaddeus Bradley, the shootout with Chase in that town in New Mexico, the constant danger they seemed to be in on the way to L.A. “Not well,” she replied.

Bu Bu shook her head. “Not well at all.”

“And now?”

“Now we save the Horsemen,” Bu Bu answered. “I… this is my fault, and my responsibility. I should not have ordered Dylan away from his desk at the FBI.”

“If you hadn’t, the other Horsemen would probably be in Tressler’s hands already,” Alma replied. “You kept them safe for a year.”

Bu Bu shook her head again, twisting her ring. “I did not just do it for them.”

Alma stared at her, eyes narrowed, trying to understand. And then it clicked.

“You did it for Dylan,” she said.

Bu Bu nodded, her eyes sad. “Yes,” she said, “I did. And… I would rather discuss why with him here with us. He needs to know from me, no one else.”

Alma nodded, understanding, and heaved a heavy sigh, looking back out the window. Li had taken some backroads and dirt paths away from the gas station, and now they were approaching a large warehouse, seemingly abandoned save for a flickering light in one of the windows.

“Why me?” Alma suddenly asked.

Bu Bu shifted, and Alma turned back to her, realizing she was confused.

“I mean… I understand why you’re telling me this,” she explained. “I’m the only person left who understands the Horsemen. The only… _Horseman_ … left.” Alma paused. “What I don’t understand… Li said you’ve been watching me for a long time. Why?”

Bu Bu smiled then, that same, cunning, mischievous smile, and Alma had a feeling that any magician in the Eye made it their goal to perfect that smile.

“You bought one of our books in a pawn shop,” she replied. “We try our best to keep those books safe, and when Dylan lost his, we tried our best to find it. But you found it before we did and took it home.”

“To France,” Alma said. “So… why didn’t you just steal it back?”

“Well, we were going to…” Bu Bu shrugged. “But the man we sent to take it read your notes, and he decided it was best left in your care after all. We hoped, in the future, you might make a good asset, if you were open to recruiting. And you kept the book safe, which was what mattered.”

“Who was the man?”

“You will meet him soon. He is waiting for us.”

Alma nodded, something in her mind clearing. “And Dylan?” she asked. “Did you orchestrate us meeting so he could get his book back?”

“Oh.” Bu Bu smiled. “For once, no, we did not. We were surprised when Agent Fuller contacted you to come to America – we had not checked on you in a while, and we had no idea you were secretly researching Tressler. If we had…” She shook her head. “But that no longer matters. You are here, and you can help us. And we were simply lucky enough to have someone with Dylan this past week that understood, perhaps more than anyone else could have.”

Alma smiled, the car pulling into the warehouse, and remembered what her mother told her, what she told Dylan, and what Dylan in turn told her, the night they looked at the stars.

“Fate has a way of working things out,” Alma said.

Bu Bu smiled, Li pulling the car to a stop, and unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Yes,” she said, “it most certainly does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I didn't post this chapter this morning - we had a Father's Day brunch really early, and then we had to go run errands, and the day kind of got away from me, but it's here now! And I decided to end on a hopeful note this time. Especially considering what I have in store next week >:D
> 
> Thanks again for all the nice comments and support! Y'all are the best I love you guys
> 
> The hell ain't over yet >:p


	31. Shrike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi.
> 
> reason this is so late in the day: I wrote it all today  
> why did I write it all today: because I am an idiot and also. jfc. you will see. it is IntenseTM  
> it is very long: yes. I noticed. this is for the super short chapter we had last week. and also I wrote 18 pages of this today. my brain died. it was worth it but my brain still died.
> 
> I love y'all. enjoy.

The worst part, Dylan realized, about being alone in a cell, wasn’t the discomfort, or the cold, or the harsh light that did nothing to help his pounding headache; it was the silence and the loneliness and, by extension, the time all that silence and loneliness gave a person to think.

And Dylan, after everything, had far too much to think about.

The first thoughts he had were about his Horsemen – Jack and Lula, he knew, were in FBI custody, and would most likely end up in Tressler’s clutches before any proper social services officials came to get them. Danny and Merritt were already caught. And Henley… he wished beyond all hope she was safe, that she’d found the Eye and was out of reach of their enemies, but Dylan was a realist, and a pessimist when things went bad. And things had never been worse than this. For all he knew, Tressler – or Bradley – had already gotten to Henley too.

And Alma… god, what had he done to Alma?

He knew Austin and Fuller (and hopefully Cowan) were careful to keep Alma an unknown to the FBI, but careful or not, Tressler had the FBI Director in his pocket. Even if there was no evidence tying Alma to the Horsemen case, Paul Davis could easily cook some up for a couple million. Which meant Alma, more likely than not, wasn’t safe in the U.S., and probably not in France either. She’d have to run, just like he and his Horsemen had, always looking over her shoulder like a fugitive.

And _Dylan_ had drawn her into all of this. Maybe Fuller had made the call, and maybe she’d chosen to go, but she’d had no idea what was waiting for her across the Atlantic. Fuller wouldn’t have needed to call her in at all if Dylan hadn’t quit the FBI, if he hadn’t piled a bunch of kids into a van and driven them around the country for no reason at all. She was here because of him, because he’d gotten sloppy and Tressler had found them, and he _kept_ finding them, putting them all in danger, and now he knew whose side Alma was on. And if you weren’t on Tressler’s side, you were taken care of. Just like his Horsemen. Just like Dylan.

 _The Eye will help her_ , came a thought.

And Dylan scoffed, out loud, when he thought that, staring at the wall of his cell.

_The Eye is what got us all here in the first place._

He should’ve listened to Danny. As stupid and angry as he’d been that day in the hotel room, his words rang true, truer than any Dylan had dared think before. Why _hadn’t_ the Eye come to get them earlier? Why had they let him gallivant around for as long as he had, with five possible initiates in tow? Bu Bu told Dylan to wait, be patient, the Eye has a plan, and he did, because he believed she and the Eye had their best interests in mind. But what _was_ the plan, exactly? Have him drive a bunch of kids around so they could draw out Tressler? Use his _Horsemen_ as bait for a psychopath who wanted them destroyed?

 _They’re kids_ , he thought, shaking. _They’re_ my _kids, and they were using us, just like the FBI, just like everyone. And I was stupid enough to let it happen_.

The Eye had been his rock since his mother’s death; Bu Bu had taken care of him like he was her own. The _Eye_ had taken care of him. Or it was supposed to.

_The Eye looks out for its own._

Dylan didn’t think he believed that anymore.

The buzzing of his cell door opening startled him out of his thoughts, and Dylan looked up from where he was sitting on the cell’s metal bench. The door opened, revealing Paul Davis and a few of his lackeys. Davis was the only one who entered the cell, and he shut the door behind him.

Dylan knew an interrogation when he saw one. This… wasn’t that.

“What do you want?” Dylan asked.

Davis smiled, and Dylan glanced at the camera in the corner, recording everything. Or at least, it had been – now the thing was powered down, the little green light extinguished. Dylan’s grip on the bench below him tightened; Davis could do anything he wanted to now, which meant Dylan had to be ready for anything.

“Please tell me you aren’t gonna beat me up,” Dylan said, dripping sarcasm. “I mean I get you don’t have to abide by standard procedure since you live in Tressler’s cash-caked asshole, but still, that’s a little too cliché, even for me.”

“Shut it, Rhodes,” Davis snapped. “Or wait, is it Shrike? You know, I just can’t seem to figure out who you really are these days.”

“Kind of the idea.”

“I said shut it.”

Dylan gritted his teeth, annoyed, but did as he said. Davis gave him a cocky smirk.

“There we go, was that so hard?” he asked, and Dylan would’ve ripped his face off if there weren’t guards outside ready to beat him into a pulp. “I’m not going to resort to any… unnecessarily violent methods unless I have to, but keep in mind I’ve had a very long day. What I consider requiring that sort of thing may vary from the textbook definition. So please, Dylan, give me an excuse to beat you within an inch of your life. It’d be refreshing.”

Again, ripping Paul Davis’s face off suddenly seemed very appealing. _Refreshing_ , even. Maybe he actually would, if he ever got out of this.

When Dylan didn’t respond, Davis sighed and gave him another fake smile. “Good, you’re learning,” he said. “I came here to ask you about Alma Dray.”

That caught Dylan by surprise.

“Alma?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “What about Alma?”

Davis raised an eyebrow. “ _Alma?”_

Dylan’s stomach dropped. _Shit_.

He tried to change his face, make him look nonchalant or curious or annoyed or _anything_ but what he was really feeling, but Davis had caught the moment of surprise and panic, and now he knew. Paul Davis wasn’t an idiot; it was one of the reasons Austin had been forced to discontinue the Tressler case. It was also one of the reasons he’d been made FBI director in the first place. And now he knew the one thing Dylan hadn’t wanted him to know.

“Oh.” Davis almost laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, _Dylan_ , that’s just… I don’t even have anything to say to that.”

“Good, then you can shut up about it.”

“Not so fast, lover boy.” Davis walked closer, and Dylan stood up, not wanting to be caught off guard while sitting on his ass. “I want to know where she is.”

“Why?” Dylan’s heart leapt – _they haven’t found her yet_.

“Why the hell do you think? She’s an Interpol agent involved in an FBI corruption case. Her friends in France want her found, and we want her detained.” He smirked. “And apparently, she spent a little too much time with a certain wanted fugitive.”

“Fuck off, Davis, I don’t know where she is.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

Dylan stared at him. “I’m not lying.”

Davis stared back, his eyes narrowing, and Dylan suddenly realized his hands had curled into fists at his sides. _Preparing_ , he thought, _preparing for anything._

“Well,” Davis eventually conceded, “maybe you don’t know where she is.”

Dylan almost let himself relax.

“But you probably know plenty of places she might be,” Davis finished.

That made Dylan stop – he definitely knew plenty of places Alma could be hiding, especially if the Eye had actually found her. He could name ten Eye safe houses just within the L.A. city limits. Thirty more in the surrounding area. And with every passing minute, it was more and more likely that the Eye had found her and was keeping her safe, which meant it was more and more likely that Dylan would know where she might be hiding.

The Eye, as of late, hadn’t exactly been the answer to his problems, he noticed. More akin to the root of them. Maybe they always had been, and he just hadn’t noticed until now.

The side of Davis’s mouth quirked up into something resembling a smile. _Damnit_.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I bet the Eye has plenty of little hideaways stowed all across the globe. And you know quite a few of them, don’t you?”

“I didn’t tell her any.”

“Maybe you didn’t. But the Eye probably has her in one right now, don’t they?”

Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Why would Alma be with the Eye?” he asked.

Davis just smiled. “Why wouldn’t she?”

And then, like a light bulb, everything in Dylan’s mind clicked together.

“You think she’s in the Eye,” he said.

Another cocky smile from Davis as he nodded. “Well done, Dylan,” he said. “No wonder they made you an FBI detective.”

Dylan glared at him for the jab, but then he shook his head. “What makes you think she’s in the Eye?” he asked. _Was_ she in the Eye? _Probably not_ , he thought, after thinking for a moment. _I’d know if she was. I think. Maybe_. _Probably?_

“We did a background check on her,” Davis said. “An Interpol agent went out and interviewed her parents, and they said she used to be obsessed with the Eye when she was younger. The Eye and magic, actually. Something about a book she got in America. It’s entirely possible the Eye got ahold of her early and had her take a job in Interpol to be their eyes and ears.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dylan said, “it’s also entirely possible that liking that stuff was a phase and has literally no relation to anything else in her life.”

“You really don’t think she’s in the Eye?”

“Well I would know, wouldn’t I?” Dylan stared at Davis. “I spent a week with her in a tiny van, you don’t think I’d know if she was in the Eye?”

Davis just smirked, tilting his head like a parrot. “How many secrets has the Eye kept from you, Dylan?”

That made him stop.

 _How many secrets, Dylan?_ A voice whispered in his mind. _How many secrets do they keep from you? From everyone?_

“The Eye is built on secrets, isn’t it?” Davis continued, beginning to pace in front of Dylan. “I mean, secrets are what make magic _magical_ , right? And every good secret society needs secrets. I bet there are things they know that aren’t even in your paygrade, Dylan. Unless, of course, you’re secretly the mastermind behind everything, in which case my life just got ten times easier.”

“I know they keep secrets from me,” Dylan answered carefully. _Yeah, he knew, but was it right?_ “It’s a security measure. Plausible deniability. I’ve known that forever; no one knows every secret in the Eye, Davis.”

“Well, what’s to say that _she_ isn’t one of them?”

That made him pause. Well… was she? She couldn’t be.

But… wait, no. Hold on.

Something was wrong. This wasn’t how Davis usually played his interrogations; too much talking, not enough punching. These were mind games. This was Tressler talking, not him.

“What are you trying to do, Davis?” Dylan asked. “Turn us against each other? Confuse me into slipping out a safe house? It’s not going to work.”

Something in his face changed – a twitching eye, an angry glint that wasn’t there before. He clenched his jaw, glaring at Dylan, silent.

It took Dylan a moment to realize he was _listening_ – Davis had an earpiece in, almost hidden from view, that Dylan hadn’t noticed until now. And Dylan would bet everything he had that Tressler was on the other end of that line.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not talking to Paul Davis, am I? I’m talking to Tressler.”

The shock in Davis’s eyes told him he was right. Dylan smirked; he still had it.

“Wow.” He smiled. “This takes ‘puppetry’ to a whole new level, you know that? It’s not even subtle anymore. And yet, you just can’t seem to see it behind your giant pile of money. Now _that’s_ sad–”

The punch came faster than Dylan could react, slamming into his eye so hard it knocked his head back, and then Davis grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him into the wall behind him. The bench below was digging into the back of Dylan’s knees, and his head started spinning. He couldn’t open one of his eyes.

“I’d stay quiet if I were you,” Davis growled. Ah, here it was. The real Davis Interrogation Method. “He didn’t tell me to do that, by the way.”

“Oh, I know,” Dylan said, still smiling. “That’s not his style.”

“Then why are you still smiling?”

“Because I got in your head.”

Davis’s eyes glinted with hate, and he punched Dylan again, in the stomach, in the head, and slammed him back into the wall. The noise echoed around the cell – the guards outside could definitely hear it.

 _Not that they’ll be coming in any time soon_ , Dylan thought.

God, he really knew how to throw himself under the bus, didn’t he?

“Tressler wants me to tell you that we’ll find your little girlfriend, whether you help us or not,” Davis spat.

“She’s not really my girlfriend.”

“ _Shut up_.”

He kneed Dylan in the stomach, and Dylan doubled over, coughing. God damn it, that _hurt_.

“ _Ow_ ,” Dylan coughed out.

“He also says that since you know he’s here, I can do whatever I want to you.” Davis smirked and pulled Dylan up again, holding him against the wall. “And you almost cost me my job, Dylan. I wouldn’t mind breaking a few bones.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Dylan threw his elbow across Davis’s face, hard, and his head snapped to the side so forcefully that for a moment, Dylan was afraid he’d snapped his neck. But no, he just yelled and loosened his grip on Dylan’s shirt. Pity. Dylan jerked away, leaning back to kick Davis in the stomach, and the other man’s eyes bulged when the foot hit its mark. He fell backwards into the wall, and Dylan held his ground.

Barely a second later, the cell door buzzed open, and the two guards from outside stormed into the room, wielding batons. Dylan cursed and dodged the first one, but the second got him in the ribs, and then the first one grabbed him, and after that it was basically over. They twisted his arms behind his back until he cried out, and they held him like that until Davis picked himself up off the floor.

He had a crazy look in his eyes and Dylan really didn’t like. When he tried to jerk away again, one of the guards kicked behind his knee, and he fell to the ground, knees smarting when they hit the concrete floor.

Davis smirked, his lip bleeding onto his teeth where Dylan had hit him, and grabbed Dylan’s hair and yanked up. Dylan hissed in pain and glared up at him, hands curled into fists.

“You really are a stupid son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Davis said.

He didn’t give Dylan a chance to reply before he punched him across the face.

* * *

“I’m hungry.”

Jack sighed, turning to glare at Lula. “Why’d you have to say that?” he asked. “Now I’m hungry too.”

“You were hungry before, I just made you notice it.”

“Thanks.”

Lula sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s been forever, why haven’t they let us out yet?” she asked. “I need to pee.”

“There’s a toilet thing in the corner, you know.”

“I don’t want to go with you _watching_.”

“I’m not gonna watch! I’ll turn around or something!”

Lula sighed again and kicked the wall, fuming. “There’s a camera in here too,” she said. “I’m not going in front of _them_ either.”

“Then I’ll disconnect the camera.”

“And then they’ll come in here and beat you up and reconnect the camera, _while_ I’m peeing.”

“Well they aren’t gonna let us out to go, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack grinned at her, bitterly. “We’ve got ourselves a reputation.”

Lula scowled at the door. “Not one that gets us out of a cell locked with a key card.”

It’d been like this for hours. They’d taken away both Jack and Lula’s watches, so neither of them knew how long they’d been in this cell. It felt like a long time – from how grimy she felt and how hungry she was, Lula could tell it’d been at least eighteen hours, maybe even a full day. They’d gotten captured around one am, since their show ended at midnight. So theoretically, it’d be around… seven pm? Eight?

“Hey!” Lula yelled, kicking the door. The guard down the hall glared at her. “What time is it?”

“Seven forty-six,” he said. “Now shut up.”

Lula rolled her eyes and went back to Jack on the bench. She was close – almost nineteen hours.

“I hate this,” Jack said as Lula sat down next to him. He hit the wall, frustrated. “I hate it, being stuck, not being able to do anything. It’s stupid. We’re just trying to save our friends, what the hell is wrong with that?”

“Nothing, but half the FBI works for Tressler,” Lula said. She was frustrated too. “How… how do you think Dylan is doing?”

 Jack didn’t respond, staring at the floor.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “He… I don’t know, Lula. What do you think they’re doing to him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“Then what? What do we think about?” Jack took a shaky breath, and Lula realized he was trying not to cry again. “Lula, they’re gonna send us back, a-and I can’t go back, you _know_ I can’t, I’m–”

“I know, okay?” Lula slipped her hand into Jack’s squeezing it, and he took another breath, trying to calm down. “I know. But… they probably won’t send you back, not to that place. They probably caught him already, right? I mean, you can’t hide that kind of stuff forever, not if kids get adopted and, and they tell stories…”

Jack kept staring at the floor and shrugged, which meant Lula was making sense. He believed her, at least a little bit.

“They won’t send you to him, not if you tell them what happened,” she said. “They’ll just… send us somewhere else. Another home. Maybe they’ll be nice to us there.”

“It won’t be the van.”

Lula wished she could argue, but she couldn’t. Jack was right – it wouldn’t be the van. _Nothing_ would ever be the van, not anymore. She wondered if the FBI had found it, or if Dylan really had hidden it away so no one could find it. Hopefully, it was the latter. She’d left enough food in there for her animals to last two weeks. But if no one found it before then…

“What if they separate us?” Jack asked suddenly. Lula’s heart clenched – she didn’t want to think about that either. “Lula, what if–”

“They can’t,” she said immediately. “They, they _can’t_ , can they?”

Jack shook his head. “They can.”

“But, they _wouldn’t_ , right?”

He didn’t do anything, which meant yes, they would, or they might, and Lula suddenly very much didn’t want to talk about this anymore. They’d already lost everything – their friends, their home, Dylan. They couldn’t lose each other too.

“What if Tressler kidnaps us before social services even gets here?” Lula asked. That wouldn’t necessarily be a better alternative, but at least they’d be _together_. For a while. “That’s… probably more likely, right?”

“Probably.”

“So then what–”

Their door lock buzzed, and Jack and Lula looked up as the door opened, revealing two guards and a man they didn’t recognize. He was dressed in a gray suit with a sweater vest underneath, and he had a weird mustache that vaguely reminded Lula of Hitler. Probably not a good sign. In one hand, he had a suitcase, and in the other, he had a clipboard.

The man checked the clipboard, and then looked at the pair again. “Jack Wilder and Lula… May, is it?” He has a British-sounding accent. “I’m Mr. Carroway. I work with Social Services.”

Jack and Lula looked at each other, immediately suspicious. Either he really was with social services (bad), or he was working for Tressler and had come to kidnap them (worse, and more likely). They stayed silent and didn’t move. Lula checked the camera out of the corner of her eye – it was turned off.

 _Bad_ , she thought, _this is bad, this is very bad_.

Mr. Carroway sighed and stepped in the room, turning back to the guards. “Can I have a moment alone with them, please?” he asked.

“You can’t bring anything inside,” one of them said.

“Why not?”

“They might use it to break out.”

Carroway seemed surprised, glancing between the guards and the kids, but he eventually conceded and handed over his items. The clipboard to the first guard, the suitcase to the second. They nodded and stepped back, letting him in and shutting the door behind them.

The buzzer clicked, locking them all in. Lula realized she was still holding Jack’s hand, and it had started to hurt; they were both squeezing so tightly, their knuckles had turned white.

“Look,” Carroway said. “I can tell you don’t trust me.”

“Gee, can’t imagine why,” Lula replied.

Carroway gave her a look. “But whether or not you trust me, you will, very soon.”

Jack and Lula looked at each other again.

“Uh… why?” Jack asked.

Carroway smiled and slipped something out of his sleeve – a small black remote with one button. Lula’s heart leapt into her throat. _A bomb?_ She immediately thought.

But no, it wasn’t a bomb. He pressed the button, and outside, both guards froze and started shaking as a sound like a slightly muffled tazer came through the door. Lula realized it was coming from the suitcase and the clipboard – _electrocuted_ , she realized, _they’re being electrocuted. By… Mr. Carroway’s things?_

When he released the button, both men slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Carroway smirked again and flicked his wrist. The remote disappeared. Like magic.

Jack and Lula looked at each other.

“Uh,” Jack said, “how is _that_ supposed to make us trust you?”

Then, barely a second later, a slim figure dressed in black ran into view through, picked up one of the key cards off the unconscious guards, and swiped it at the door. The cell buzzed open, and the figure stepped inside, pulling off the hood, goggles, and bandana covering her face.

As soon as Lula saw blonde hair in a ponytail, she knew who it was.

“Alma!”

The kids jumped off the bench and ran to her, and she knelt down so they could jump into her arms and she could hug them. They all laughed, Lula holding her so tightly she wondered if she’d be able to let go. Alma and Jack were doing the same. She couldn’t believe it – Alma had come to rescue them!

“Oh, it’s good to see you kids,” she said, pulling back to look at their faces. “Were you hurt?”

They shook their heads. “Not too badly,” Jack said. He grinned. “We’re okay now.”

“Good.” She stood up, and they did too, gesturing towards the man with the mustache. “This is Allen Scott-Frank, and he’s a part of the Eye,” she said. Jack and Lula’s eyes grew wide, and they stared. He just smiled and waved. “He’s going to get you both out of here.”

“Wait,” Lula said as Alma turned to leave. “What about you?”

She put her hood up and turned back around, smiling.

“I’m going to find Dylan,” she said.

* * *

Dylan was tasting blood.

Davis’s knuckles were red and bloodied, and the crazy glint in his eyes had only gotten stronger the longer this went on. Dylan’s head was spinning; he felt like he wanted to throw up.

“You know,” Davis said, kneeling down to Dylan’s level. He’d fallen to his knees again with the last kick, still gasping for the air that’d been forced out of his lungs. “This can all stop if you just tell us where the safe houses are. It can just be one, if you want. A small one. We’ll come back for more, of course, but if you just want to stop for now, I’ll take it.”

“Piss off,” Dylan spat. He wondered, in the back of his mind, why he was still being loyal to the Eye, why he hadn’t given Davis a location yet. Maybe it was his honor – as awful as the Eye had been, he’d still promised them everything. He couldn’t break a promise.

Or maybe… maybe he was just doing it for Alma. Keeping her safe. The FBI could pry Eye information out of him all they wanted, but if they touched Alma, he would kill every single one of them.

Davis just sighed and stood back up, turning around. “Get him up,” he said, and the guards hauled Dylan to his feet. His knees were shaking.

“Which bone would you like me to break, Dylan?” he asked. Dylan quelled the spike of fear in his chest – he knew what Davis liked to do with broken bones. “Your arms? Legs? Maybe your fingers, I bet you use those plenty for magic tricks.”

He tried to jerk away again, but the guards held him in place. Davis turned back around, cracking his knuckles.

“Oh? Touchy?” He smirked. “Fingers it is, then.”

“Don’t–”

“Give me his hand.”

Dylan struggled, shaking his head, but one of the guards punched him in the side and he cried out, the hit getting him in his already bruised ribs. The other managed to twist his arm out from behind his back and held him by the wrist and shoulder, pulling the hand further away from Dylan’s body.

Davis smiled, grabbing Dylan’s wrist from the guard, and Dylan started to panic, trying to pull his hand away. Davis pressed his other hand’s thumb under Dylan’s pinky and looked right in his eyes, adding just enough pressure to hurt.

“Last chance, Dylan,” he said, “or this won’t be the only finger I break.”

He didn’t have a chance to respond before the door buzzed.

Davis’s eyes narrowed, turning towards the door to yell, but what he saw in the doorway surprised him so much he opened his mouth and nothing came out.

Then Alma Dray pulled out a tazer and fired, and a scream came out of his mouth before Paul Davis dropped to the floor, twitching.

She smirked.

The guard who’d twisted Dylan’s hand out immediately ran towards Alma, which gave Dylan an extra arm to fight the other guard with. He twisted around and immediately punched the guy in the face, and then slammed his heel into his instep. The guard shrieked and let go of his arm. Dylan pulled his cuffs off his belt before he could blink and twisted the guy around, slapping the cuffs on before kicking the back of his knee. Then the guard fell, Dylan slamming his head on the bench as he went, knocking him unconscious.

When Dylan turned around, Alma had already taken care of her guard, the guy groaning on the floor in agony, curled up in the fetal position. He had a feeling he knew where she’d hit him.

Paul Davis was still on the ground, twitching, but Dylan knelt down and grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him up to his face. Then he punched him right in the nose – he could hear the bone snap under his fingers, and Davis grunted in pain.

“Good thing you only have one nose,” Dylan growled. Then he punched him again, hard as he could across the face, and Davis fell back to the floor, unconscious.

Dylan took the earpiece out of Davis’s ear and put it in his own, looking up at Alma.

“Tressler,” he said. Her eyes widened.

No response on the other end, but Dylan could hear breathing. That meant he was listening.

“You listen to me,” he said, pressing the piece in his ear. “I will find you. That is not a hope, or a goal, it is a fact. And when I find you, I will rain hell upon you for everything you’ve done to me and my Horsemen. _Do you understand?_ ”

Silence, and then the line clicked and went dead, and Dylan pulled the piece out of his ear and dropped it on Davis’s body. Let him talk his way out of this one with Tressler once he woke up. The bastard knew. He knew what Dylan was going to do.

He hoped he was shitting his pants in fear. He should be.

Suddenly, the alarms started blaring, and Dylan snapped out of his thoughts and locked eyes with Alma, who was standing there, staring at him, kneeling on the floor in front of her. He probably looked like shit. Alma still looked beautiful.

He pushed himself to his feet, and the two of them hugged, Dylan closing his eyes to enjoy it.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he breathed.

Alma twisted the back of his shirt in her hand. “Me neither,” she said.

They pulled away, smiling at each other, and then Alma slipped her hand into his and pulled him out the door.

“We need to leave,” she said, “now.”

“The kids–”

“I got them already, they’re fine. Are you okay?”

He nodded, following her down the hall. “Alma, come on,” he said, “after everything that happened on the way here? This is child’s play.”

She laughed, shaking her head, and Dylan realized that everything hurt a lot less now that Alma was here.

* * *

They snuck out a back door into a mostly empty parking lot, where an unmarked black SUV was waiting for them with the engine running. Alma opened the door and the two of them climbed inside – the driver took off before they even closed the door.

Dylan barely had time to register his new surroundings before he was attacked again.

“Dylan!”

Jack and Lula crashed into him, hugging him tight around his chest, and Dylan was so happy he almost cried. He hugged them back, laughing, and then one of them squeezed too hard and he hissed in pain, and the pair pulled back.

“Oh jeez, you’re hurt,” Lula said. She looked at his face. “Oh wow, you’re really hurt. What did they _do_ to you?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” he said, but they ran over a pothole, and he winced again. Jack and Lula stared at him, obviously not falling for it. Goddamn these smart kids.

“Here.” Alma pressed an antiseptic wipe into his hand with a concerned smile – there was a first aid kit under one of the seats that she was now dissecting. “Allen, is there any water in here?”

“In the trunk,” someone said up front. Wait, Dylan recognized that voice.

“Allen?” he asked, and lo and behold, Allen Scott-Frank turned around in the front seat to flash him a smile. Dylan smiled too. “Oh my god, it’s been a while.”

“Yes, it most certainly has.”

“How do you know him?” Lula asked. Jack had already climbed into the trunk over the backseat and was rustling around for the water.

“He’s the one who recruited me,” Dylan said. “What was it, eight years ago?”

“Yep.”

“I got the water,” Jack said, handing it to Alma. She took it and poured some pills into her hand from a bottle, glancing at Dylan and then at the wipe in his hand.

“Oh.” He swiped the thing across his face, hissing as it stung, but at least his face felt clean. The wipe came back grimy and bloody. Alma let him take a swig of water before making him take the painkillers.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. She smiled back and nodded.

“I’ve gotten better at this,” she said. “It seems I’m always doing it.”

Lula and Dylan laughed as Jack climbed back over the seats. “I think Dylan secretly has a death wish,” Lula said.

“More like everyone not-so-secretly wants to kill me,” he replied.

Everyone laughed again, but then the car fell silent, Allen running over another pothole and Dylan wincing at the pain.

“Allen, where are you taking us?” he asked.

“An Eye safe house,” he replied, eyes on the road. They were traveling through the city to the edge, a few distant sirens starting up behind them. “Bu Bu and her grandson are there.”

_Bu Bu._

Dylan didn’t say anything, but all his thoughts about the Eye resurfaced in force, making him scowl without realizing. He wondered what Bu Bu would have to say for herself, for the Eye. He wondered if he could trust either ever again.

“Dylan?” Jack asked. He blinked and turned to the kid, and Dylan realized everyone was staring at him like they were afraid he might snap. He forced himself to calm down and rubbed Jack’s head.

“It’s alright, Jack,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Dylan wondered when he’d gotten so used to lying.

* * *

It took them about an hour to reach the safe house. Allen drove the car into the warehouse and stopped in the middle of the floor before cutting off the gas. Dylan saw a kid, probably around Henley and Danny’s age, close the doors behind the car and lock them. He was Chinese, with a black leather jacket and a shock of spiky black hair. He must’ve been Bu Bu’s grandson, Li. She used to talk about him a lot, before Dylan left the FBI.

Everyone piled out, Dylan still wincing a little, Alma and the kids helping him when he needed it. But he could stand on his own, which was good enough. The rest he could take care of later.

He glanced around. The warehouse was empty save for a table by the window with a lit candle and a corner opposite covered in drapery. Everyone walked towards it, Li giving Dylan and the kids a smile. Dylan nodded back, not really in a talking mood.

When they pushed through the curtains, they found her, sitting at a table and drinking tea. The second Bu Bu saw Dylan, relief flooded her face.

“Dylan,” she said, smiling. But then her smile faltered – she could read his expression perfectly, and he wasn’t happy. “Jack, Lula. I am… I am very grateful you are here.”

Jack and Lula looked up at Dylan, waiting to see how he would respond, but he just stayed silent, staring at her, leaning on Alma for support.

“Jack, Lula,” Bu Bu said, turning to them, “my name is Bu Bu. I have been Dylan’s contact in the Eye since he became a part of it. This is my grandson, Li.”

Li smiled at the two of them and shrugged, hands in his pockets. Lula smiled back, but Jack just glanced between Li and his grandmother.

“You’re all a part of the Eye?” he asked.

She nodded. Jack glanced at Dylan, who was still staring silently at Bu Bu, like he was trying to figure out how he felt. He probably was, actually. Lula bit her lip and coughed.

“Uh, Alma,” she said, “maybe we should uh, go explore the warehouse. I definitely want to.”

Jack took another look at Dylan and nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

“Sounds good to me,” Li said in accented English.

“Great idea,” Alma said.

She gently slipped Dylan’s arm off her shoulders, squeezing his hand, and herded everyone else out the door, leaving him and Bu Bu alone. He didn’t say anything until he couldn’t hear their voices anymore, until the door of the warehouse had creaked itself open and closed and cut off all sound save for the crickets outside.

It smelled like Bu Bu’s tea. He’d forgotten how much he loved that smell.

“I have questions,” Dylan finally said, breaking the silence.

Bu Bu nodded. “And I hope I have the answers,” she replied. “You should sit down.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Yes, you do. Sit.”

He looked away, conceding, and sat down across from her, taking a breath. There was a steaming cup of tea in front of him, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he stared at the table top, scratching at it with his fingernail.

“Why?” he asked.

Bu Bu rubbed the rim of her teacup with one finger. “Why?”

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? Why did you make me quit my job at the FBI and go find those kids? What’s been going on for the past year that I haven’t been privy to, Bu Bu?” Now that he was talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Were we bait? Was that it? Why did the Eye have me find them?”

“The Eye did not have you find them,” Bu Bu said quietly. “I did.”

He paused, for a moment, the information flipping half his theories on their heads. “Wait,” he said. “ _You_ did?”

She nodded.

“Why?” he asked.

Bu Bu lifted the finger tracing the top of her teacup and curled it back into her shaking hand.

“Bu Bu?” he asked.

She sighed. “The Eye is not perfect, Dylan,” she said. “And I disobeyed orders _because_ it is not perfect, because of what they planned to use you to do.”

“Use me?” Dylan stared at her. “What, wait, you mean the mission? The plan I had to take down Tressler and Bradley?” He’d almost forgotten about it – it’d been a year since he’d thought about that master plan. But now it was coming back. All the planning and scheming and revenge, all the time he’d put into it. And he’d had to abandon it, thanks to the Eye – no, thanks to Bu Bu.

She nodded, and somehow, Dylan was more confused and angry than before.

“Wait, you didn’t…” He shook his head. “You didn’t want me to finish my plan with the FBI, and that’s why you called me away from my desk.”

“That is part of it, yes.”

“But…” None of this made _sense._ “But, you aren’t _working_ for them, are you? You couldn’t – why wouldn’t you want me to do that? Tressler is our greatest enemy, he’s been trying to destroy us, and from what I can tell, he’s gotten pretty damn close! Why the hell did you put a stop to my plan?”

“Dylan–”

“He’s the _reason_ my kids are in danger, Bu Bu!” he said, standing up. The table rocked, and some of his tea spilled onto the wood. “A few more years, and I would’ve had him, and, and none of this would’ve happened, and…” He stopped, shaking his head again. Nothing made sense anymore.

“Dylan,” she said again. “I called you away because the plan you had would have destroyed you. You know that.”

He shook his head. “So what, if that’s what it took?”

“I did not convince the Eye to recruit you so you could destroy yourself.”

“That’s not your decision to make!” Dylan was yelling now, really yelling, and Bu Bu’s eyes were sad, but she held his gaze. “I joined the Eye to avenge my family, Bu Bu! Bradley and Tressler _took my parents from me_ , and I was going to make them pay! You _knew_ that’s what I was going to do! You knew I was going to bring justice to the people that’d wronged me and my family, and you _took that away from me_ to… to…”

He stopped, realizing what he was about to say, and something inside him broke.

No. That was wrong – that was _wrong_. Dylan didn’t think that. He couldn’t. How could he think avenging his father was more important than protecting his Horsemen? How could he _think_ that?

“I’m…” His voice broke, and Dylan felt like he was ten years old again, the world spinning out of control as his father drowned in the Hudson River. He sat back down. “I… why? Why did you send me after them?”

Bu Bu placed her cup back on the table, wrapping her wrinkled hands around the sides.

“Dylan Shrike,” Bu Bu said softly. “The reason I brought you into the Eye and the reason I sent you to take care of those children are tied closer than you think.”

He stared at her, empty and numb, waiting for her to explain. Like a cup waiting to be filled. But Bu Bu seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

And then, after a moment, she found it again.

“You were broken, Dylan, when you first came to us,” she said, and Dylan remembered. _I was_. “You wanted something to fill the empty part of you, and you filled it with anger. And for most of us, that was fine – that anger was fueling one of the most genius plots ever imagined to take down our biggest enemies. And that was all we cared about. But…” Bu Bu took a deep breath, rubbing the rim of her cup with one finger again, like not doing so would untether her from reality. “Your revenge fit our needs, Dylan. Our plans. But it never… it never fit yours.”

“I wanted you in the Eye because I saw what you could become – someone skillful and wise and caring that could take the craft and the Eye further than it ever had before.” She smiled into her cup, and Dylan almost smiled too. He remembered that, Bu Bu believing in him. It’d been so long since anyone believed in him before that. “I saw that you needed a new beginning, something to take you away from the hole inside you, fill it with something better and stronger. But that anger… it just grew and grew, Dylan. I knew, I _knew_ it would turn you into something else, something horrible. We needed Tressler gone, but not at the expense of one of our own – not like this. You were turning into a monster, Dylan. I could not watch that happen.

“So I disobeyed orders–” A wince – Bu Bu obviously didn’t have fond memories of that particular incident. “–direct orders, from the council. I sent you to take care of the Horsemen. The Eye did not want us risking one of our most valuable assets for five new ones, but I knew you would find something better in them than you did with us. All we ever did was fuel your revenge for our needs. But those children… they brought out a part of you that you had almost forgotten existed.

“When you came to us, you were broken. I said that. You had pushed almost everyone away, and you barely let anyone get close to you. That is not what Lionel would have wanted for his son. So I sent you after the Horsemen, and they taught you to _love again_ , Dylan. You learned there are more important things in this world than avenging your father, and for the first time in what I assume must have been years, you let yourself care, truly care, about other people.

“Children are fickle things. They make you laugh and break your heart, and yet, if you love them, all you want to do is watch them grow and thrive and keep them safe no matter the cost. We look out for our own – The Eye looks out for its own. And we – _I_ almost forgot that with you, Dylan. We almost let you destroy yourself to take down our enemy.” Bu Bu gave another shaky smile to the inside of her teacup, and something heavy pulled at Dylan’s heart. _She blames herself_ , he realized. _But… she shouldn’t_.

“It was a risk. A calculated risk and flagrant display of insurrection. But I pulled you away from your plans and let you begin anew, the way the Eye should have when you first joined us. And now… Now you will not rest until we bring home your Horsemen safe and sound.”

Bu Bu smiled, her eyes wise and kind, and Dylan… felt like everything had fallen into place.

She was right.

He wouldn’t rest until his Horsemen were safe. A year ago he wouldn’t have cared. But now it was all that mattered to him, and that, he realized, had been her entire point.

 _You were turning into a monster, Dylan_ , she’d said. _I could not watch that happen_.

 _That is not what Lionel would have wanted for his son_.

“Neither will we,” she said, and he realized she was still talking while he was lost in his own mind. “We will not leave our own behind, and those children, no matter what the council says, are a part of the Eye, and a part of our family. And… we will not let you lose your family again, Dylan. _I_ will not. I promise you that.”

_Lose his family again._

Dylan suddenly realized he was crying.

He was frozen for a moment, a long, heavy moment, and then he took a deep breath and wiped under his eyes, smiling. Dylan understood. Bu Bu wanted the kids safe even though the Eye didn’t, so she sent him after them. She wanted them in the Eye even though the council didn’t, so she disobeyed orders. And she didn’t want him turning into… what he’d almost become, so she sent him to the Horsemen instead.

 _The Eye looks out for its own_.

He never realized how deep that commitment should go. Neither did the council.

But Bu Bu did.

Dylan shook his head, still smiling, but then his smile slipped away. “We, we don’t have many resources left,” he said. “The Eye’s barely a skeleton now, and if… if you don’t have their support like we used to, then how are we–”

“Oh, my grandson and I have more up our sleeves than you might think,” Bu Bu said with a glint in her eye. “As does Mr. Scott-Frank. Not a lot, but enough. And we’ll need your help – both you and Ms. Dray’s – to get the Horsemen back.”

“But we’ll get them back,” he said. “We will.”

Bu Bu just smiled and nodded, and Dylan suddenly felt more at ease than he had in a long time.

_The Eye looks out for its own._

“Have a little faith, Dylan,” she said. “We’ll bring your Horsemen home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile: Danny? Merritt? Henley? Who are they? What is happening to them? No one knows?
> 
> (*shitty TV show host voice* tune in next week to find out! :) )


	32. Voices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned from the abyss dear friends
> 
> who's ready for hell

“You okay?”

Danny coughed in reply, opting out of shaking his head since that only made everything worse. He knew Merritt would understand, what with him being a mind reader and all. And his friend. The inside of his mouth tasted like blood.

“Do they really think,” Danny rasped, “that we’re going to join their little fan club? For Arthur Tressler?”

“It’s not so much a fan club as it is a private magician task force run by a billionaire with an illegally earned fortune,” Merritt said. Danny wanted to kick him in the shin. He probably would’ve, actually, if he hadn’t been so far away. And if every part of him didn’t ache.

“Are you sure–” Danny coughed again, and Merritt winced. He didn’t sound good. “Are you _sure_ I don’t have the flu? It is flu season.”

“Dylan got us vaccinated, remember?” Merritt said. Danny knew he had – Dylan had taken them to a clinic in November and gotten it done quietly (though Lula definitely hadn’t been quiet. She hated needles). But still, this _felt_ like the flu. Coughing, sneezing, head full of mucus, cold with a fever (he assumed), aching everywhere. It sucked. And it didn’t help that Walter and Chase had knocked their heads around a few hours earlier.

“What if the vaccine didn’t work?” Danny asked.

“It’s a common cold, alright?” Merritt replied. “It’s the stress and the weather–”

“And the fact that we’re trapped in a freezing cellar with damp walls and a floor made of concrete,” Danny said. He was suddenly very cold, enough to make his teeth chatter. God, he _hated_ being sick.

“You’ll be fine,” Merritt said. “I hope. You’re probably giving whatever the hell you’ve got to me right now, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Well, that’s a first, isn’t it?”

Danny managed a smile and shook his head, just a little. Stupid Merritt.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the pole he was chained to, staring back up at the dark ceiling like it held the secrets of the world. Every part of him hurt, but not enough to keep his thoughts from racing every time he and Merritt fell silent. The others had already been captured; Walter and Chase had been sure to bring that up during their beatdown session earlier. Henley, as far as Tressler knew, was probably with Thaddeus Bradley, getting returned to those shithead parents of hers right now. Walter said he’d make sure to have her brought to him right after his dad stole her from Thaddeus. _I want to see the look on your face when you watch me hurt her, Atlas,_ he said. _I want you to scream yourself hoarse begging me to stop. And then, when I don’t? I want you to watch that too._

Danny shuddered, pushing that out of his mind. Psychopath.

Jack, Lula, and Dylan were caught by the FBI, who Chase happily informed them was _also_ working for Tressler. No surprise there. Not the three FBI agents they were working with, no, but basically the rest of the bureau, including the director. So all three of them were essentially in Tressler’s hands already. Not a comforting thought.

Jack and Lula, he didn’t know what they’d do to them, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. They were still young enough to be malleable. Danny figured Tressler would have his men torture them until they agreed to work for him – they’d resist, a lot, but the kind of things he could do to them… Danny didn’t want to think about it. He was already in a precarious enough position himself. In fact, he had a feeling the only reason he and Merritt hadn’t been tortured like that already was because they were Walter and Chase’s… playthings.

God, what a horrifying thought.

Jack and Lula, they’d be… not alright, but they wouldn’t die. Not for a while. Which… actually, was that worse? It was probably worse. God, he was just awful at this, wasn’t he. As annoying as those two were, Danny didn’t want them to get hurt.

And Dylan…

Jesus, Dylan.

Tressler was going to wring Dylan out like a towel, squeeze him and hurt him and pull out teeth and cut off every appendage they could think of until he gave up all his secrets about the Eye. And then, if there was anything left of him, Tressler would give him back to the FBI, have them put him in jail forever, let him rot in solitary confinement until he died or someone inside the jail killed him. One of the criminals he’d put away, maybe, or a bribed guard, or hell, maybe Tressler would straight up have him executed. Send the Eye a message. Walter wasn’t sure about the end of his father’s plan; the only thing he _was_ sure of was that it’d be fun.

Danny, on the other hand, had never felt so guilty in his entire life.

It wasn’t like he’d gotten Dylan or the other’s caught, but… he’d been an ass to Dylan, this whole time, like he always was for some reason. Even to Henley, even to the rest of the van, even to everyone who’d ever been his friend or tried to get close to him. Dylan had taken care of him and the others, put up with all of it. And Danny would never get to tell him he was sorry.

That stung. It stung more than he cared to admit. He hated Dylan sometimes, for no reason at all, but now…

Merritt shifted, his boot scraping across the concrete, and Danny looked up, his eyes blurry.

“Hey, man,” he said, “don’t start crying on me now. You’re my rock down here, you know that?”

Danny scoffed, smiling, and looked back up at the ceiling, blinking the tears out of his eyes. They fell down his face and dropped onto the floor. “Yeah, right,” he said. “I couldn’t keep _myself_ together if I tried.”

Merritt opened his mouth to respond, but then the basement door opened again, flooding light into the cellar, and the pair squinted up the stairs at the two silhouettes standing in the doorway.

“Hello again, boys,” Walter said, climbing down the steps leisurely, like he had all the time in the world. Chase followed close behind, shutting the door behind him. A switch was flipped, and now the only light in the room came from a single bulb in the center, burning yellow and buzzing slightly. Like at any moment it could burst into flames.

Danny sucked in some air, hoping it’d keep his head from swimming. When it didn’t, he just took another breath to keep from panicking. That didn’t work either.

“My, my, Danny, you aren’t looking too good,” Walter said, walking up to Atlas on the floor. His grin wasn’t comforting in the slightest. “Getting a tad sick, are we?”

“Sh-shut up,” Danny growled. _God_ , his head hurt. Everything hurt. He was so cold…

“Hm.” Walter knelt down, and Danny bared his teeth, wondering if he had it in him to actually bite Walter’s nose off. At this point, probably. If, you know, he could move fast enough.

Then Walter punched him in the gut, and it was like the pain everywhere quadrupled. Danny cried out and doubled over, pulling his knees into his chest, coughing as he tried to ride out the pain.

Walter smirked. “Definitely sick. How unfortunate.”

“Leave him alone, asshole,” Merritt growled, pulling against his cuffs, but Danny couldn’t see him – Walter was in the way, and Chase was too, standing in front of his brother with his hands in his pockets, staring down at him like a grinning gargoyle. Danny tried to move, to see him better, and Walter tsked and pushed him back against the pole, one hand on his shoulder all he needed to keep him there.

“God, you two are pathetic,” Chase said. Danny heard him kick Merritt, Merritt go “oof” as all the air left his lungs and left him gasping. Chase chuckled. “You’ve only been down here what, a few hours? Maybe a day? Come on, this was supposed to be fun.”

“Oh, torturing your brother, tha-that’s supposed to be fun?” Danny asked, unable to keep from stuttering. From the apparent cold or the nerves, he wasn’t sure, but it was probably both. “While he’s ti-tied up too? Now that’s pathetic.”

Chase shot him an evil glare, and Danny bared his teeth again, hands curled into fists. _That’s right, look at me,_ he thought. _Not at Merritt. Me._

This was definitely the first time Danny had done something stupid like this for Merritt, possibly even for anyone. He definitely should’ve picked a better time to discover his self-sacrificial tendencies.

Chase, however, just smirked in response. “You know,” he said, “when animals show their teeth like that, it’s supposed to be a sign of fear. You scared, Atlas?”

“We’re tied up in a hole with two psychopaths, dickhead,” Merritt said with a cough. “What the hell do you think?”

Danny closed his eyes and wondered why he’d helped Merritt at all if all he was going to do was be a sarcastic asshole.

“You just can’t shut your damn mouth, can you brosky?” Chase said, shaking his head. Merritt glared up at him as best he could with a black eye. “But hey, I ain’t complaining. It makes you all that much easier to read.”

“Yeah, you never seem to shut up either,” Merritt grumbled.

“But _you_ –” Chase poked Merritt in the forehead. “–can’t read _me_. I’d call that a win on my part, don’t you think?”

“I can read you fine,” Merritt said.

“Oh really, then what am I thinking about?”

Merritt gave him an unamused glare. “How much you love being an asshole?” he deadpanned.

“Nope, wrong. It was chicken waffles.”

Danny could practically _feel_ Merritt roll his eyes halfway across the room.

“Enough, Chase,” Walter said, turning back to Danny. He had a glint in his eyes that Danny really didn’t like. “We have actual work to do.”

“W-what work, get information out of us?” Danny asked. He tried to sound tough, but he had a feeling the stutter wasn’t helping. “We literally lived in a van f-for a year, dude. We don’t know anything.”

“Not even a safe house location?” Walter asked. “Important names? The Eye’s cell phone number?”

“The Eye’s cell phone number.” Merritt deadpanned. “Singular. As in the Eye only has one phone number.”

“Merritt, _shut up_ ,” Danny said.

Walter smirked, and Danny held his gaze, trying to keep his vision from tunneling.

“Oh, come on,” Walter said, “you must know something.” He was leaning in, dangerously close to Danny’s face, close enough Danny could feel his breath on his cheek. It smelled like mint – not mint toothpaste or like mints from a tin, but actual mint. Like he’d been chewing straight up mint leaves before he walked into the cellar. He probably had been, pretentious asshat. Danny hated mint.

“Maybe you don’t know you know something,” Walter said, pushing his fingers through Danny’s hair. Danny tried to jerk away, but Walter gripped his scalp and held him fast; his heart started pounding. _Danger_ , it screamed, _danger_. “There could be anything in that mind of yours. Maybe you overheard Dylan talk to someone on the phone, heard him mention something important. Maybe you stayed some place overnight and didn’t even realize it wasn’t _actually_ a shabby motel. Maybe you saw someone, passed by someone in the street, and simply… forgot them.”

“If I f-forgot them, how am I supp-posed to tell you about them?” Danny said through gritted teeth. Walter narrowed his eyes, annoyed.

“You really are a piece of work, aren’t you,” he said. “Maybe you do need some more persuasion.”

Walter pulled back his other fist, the one not holding Danny’s hair, and Danny flinched away on instinct, not wanting to get hurt again. But before either of them could move, the basement door opened and flooded everything with light again, nearly blinding all of them.

“Hey!” Walter shouted, releasing Danny’s hair and standing up. Danny leaned his head against the pole behind him, wincing at the pain in his scalp. “I told you, no interruptions unless–”

“I believe,” Arthur Tressler said, walking down the stairs, “that an exception can be made for me.”

Walter fell silent, and Danny could feel the entire room go cold. He and Merritt glanced at each other.

_This was bad. Very, very bad._

What was Arthur Tressler doing coming down here?

“Yes!” Walter said quickly. “Yes, of course father. Come in. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize–”

“You know how he gets, Mr. Tressler,” Chase interrupted, putting his arm around Walter and shaking him. “He just gets a little enthusiastic.”

Tressler shot both of them a glare. “Yes,” he said, “I am very well aware. But plans have changed, and those boys are no longer yours to play with.”

“But…” Walter sounded like a child who’d just been told Christmas was cancelled. Danny would’ve been seriously concerned for his psyche if he weren’t seriously concerned for himself at the moment. “But you said–”

“I know what I said.” Tressler clenched his jaw. “We will discuss this in a more suitable setting. Now, it’s time–”

“Dylan got away, didn’t he?”

Danny blinked, surprised, and turned towards Merritt, who was staring at Tressler with such intensity that Danny was sure he could actually read his mind. And he was smirking.

Tressler didn’t move, or reply, and that was all the answer anyone needed.

“He did,” Merritt continued. Danny’s heart leapt into his throat. “And so did Jack and Lula, god, no wonder you’re pissed. What happened, FBI slip up? No? Then… was it the Eye?”

Danny turned to see Tressler’s face, and even he could tell Merritt had hit the nail on the head. Tressler’s face had turned a nasty shade of red. If he hadn’t thought it would get him killed, Danny would’ve smiled.

 _The Eye rescued Dylan, Jack, and Lula_ , Danny thought. _The_ Eye _. They haven’t forgotten about us, have they? They just…_

Hope flared in his chest for a single, dangerous moment, and then Tressler’s face warped into a twisted smirk.

“Mr. McKinley, you are a talented young man, aren’t you?” he said.

“Why yes, I most certainly am,” Merritt replied.

“Then you can _most certainly_ infer my next course of action.”

Merritt stopped, and then his smile slipped away – Danny had figured it out before he had.

“You’re going to use us to draw them back in,” Danny said. It wasn’t a question, he knew he was right.

Tressler nodded. “Well done, Mr. Atlas,” he said. “I see why my son has taken a liking to you.”

Danny glared at Tressler, not even giving Walter a passing glance. He was going to use them to draw out their family. If Danny could’ve, he would’ve killed him.

“On second thought,” Tressler said, turning to Walter and Chase, “it would probably be… beneficial for them to appear rather worse for wear, don’t you agree? Give their little… surrogate family a reason to worry.” He gave Danny and Merritt a smirk and turned back around, heading upstairs. “Don’t have too much fun now, boys, we need them more alive than dead.”

Tressler reached the landing and shut the door behind him, leaving the pair alone with Walter, Chase, and a burning yellow light bulb.

When Walter smiled in the half-light, he looked like the Devil.

Danny was starting to believe he might be.

* * *

Henley had seriously underestimated her parents.

She knew, obviously, that they’d be bumping up security long before she came back, so that when she finally _was_ returned to them, she wouldn’t be able to escape like she had before. But she’d prepared for that, just like she prepared for everything. Her parents owned one of the biggest, most profitable IT companies in the world, and the security measures they’d put in place would be the best of the best, so Henley made sure she was prepared to deal with any and all of them.

Problem was, she hadn’t expected her parents to literally lock her in a prison on top of a tower.

What the hell was she, a Disney princess?

Her parents didn’t even smile when they saw her, which she’d expected. They hadn’t smiled at her in a long time. _You are a disappointment to this family,_ said her father. It was the first thing she heard after she stepped through the door, what a cheerful welcome. _I can’t believe you’re my daughter. Your pride and selfishness have cost us nearly everything we’ve worked for, I hope you understand that._

 _A magician, Henley?_ That was her mother. _Not only that, a_ criminal _? We expected better from you, young lady. How dare you do this to us?_

 _Hi mom, hi dad_ , Henley had thought. _Nice to see you too for the first time in a year_.

She didn’t say a word though. She couldn’t even look at them.

All she could do was try her best not to cry.

“Stupid,” she said to herself, alone, kicking at the metal door to her room. It clanged unsatisfactorily. “Stupid, stupid stupid.” Kick, kick, kick.

It’d been hours since they locked her in here, long enough that she’d seen the sun rise through the bars on her windows, and she’d spent that whole time trying to find a way out. The place was huge – a literal room at the top of the tower, like she was Rapunzel or something. It had a bedroom, a sitting room, and one of the nicest bathrooms Henley had ever seen (a tub _and_ a separate shower _and_ one of those stupid sinks where the basin takes up the entire counter space). Hell, there was even a balcony off the sitting room, which was the first escape route Henley tried.

She didn’t even finish tying her bedsheets together before an intercom speaker crackled to life in her room.

“I’ve got men sitting under your balcony 24/7,” someone said. “Nice try, little lady.”

“Who the hell are you?” Henley had yelled at the walls.

“Your new warden,” replied the voice. “Apparently.” Then the intercom cut off, and she was alone again.

That told her two things: one, she was being watched, probably through hidden cameras. Creepy. Two, her parents had hired a _literal army_ to keep her here. Was she honestly worth that much to them?

No, not her. What she could do to their reputation. _She_ wasn’t worth anything. Henley had to remember that.  

Next, she tried finding the hidden cameras, of which she only found one, hidden at the base of the flat screen TV her parents had place on her wall – like watching movies in high def would distract her from being their prisoner. At first, she wondered why they’d given her such a decked out room if they hated her so much. This wasn’t exactly punishment, right? But then she realized it was, and that her parents knew her much better than she thought they did. This was punishment, in its own way. She was given everything she could ever want: a separate room, access to entertainment, even amazing food. Henley Reeves was trapped in a room that millions of people would kill for, and all she wanted to do was escape.

“Stupid.” Hence the reason she’d gone to kick the door. “Stupid, stupid.” Kick, kick.

 _You’re just a spoiled little rich girl,_ a voice whispered in her mind. One of her teachers had said that to her, after she got a B on an assignment and her parents forced the teacher to give her an A instead. But they still yelled at her, told her she wasn’t as smart as her sister, god Henley, why can’t you be more like your sister. _You don’t care about anyone but yourself. Everything you have is because of your parents, not you. You don’t deserve anything._

Henley didn’t tell her parents what the teacher had said, because she knew that they’d just have her fired, which would just reinforce the truth she’d told her. But Henley already knew it was true. She was eight.

 _Quit acting like you’re better than us!_ Those were kids at school, mean kids, ones who found out who she was because she let it slip one day, and when she wouldn’t be friends with them, she became their enemy. _You’re not better than us, Reeves, you’re just a rich kid who thinks she’s hot shit. You don’t deserve what you have. Why would you even_ want _to be like us?_

“Shut up,” Henley said, trying to will her mind to shut up, like kicking the door over and over would beat the thoughts into silence. It never worked, though. It never had.

 _You’re not smart enough to be in this class._ That was a boy in her programming elective, a class full of seniors, and she was the only freshman. _I bet your rich ass parents bought your seat in here. You don’t deserve to be here._

 _You’re such a freak, Henley._ That was a girl she used to sit with at lunch during middle school, who caught her reading a magic book and never sat with her again. _Why do you want to be a magician? They’re lame. And you probably don’t have enough talent anyway._

_I bet your parents got you here._

_You’re not smart enough to pull that off._

_Why do you think anyone will like you?_

_You like magic? What are you, a witch?_

She whirled around, still clutching the camera she’d pulled out of the TV in her hand. Every possible escape route was blocked – the vents were too small to crawl through, the bars on the windows were welded to the wall, the door had three separate locking mechanisms and no handle on the inside. She couldn’t even find any other cameras.

_Stupid._

_Bitch._

_Rich girl._

_Slut._

_Freak._

She realized the camera she’d taken out of the TV was on the ground, shattered into a million pieces next to a wall. She must’ve thrown it. She didn’t even remember doing that.

_You’re useless and stupid and no one likes you and no one cares and no one ever will._

_What’s the point, Henley? You can’t be yourself, you can’t be someone else. What’s the point? What’s the point of staying here? What’s the point of doing anything? What’s the point of_ being alive?

“Shut up,” Henley said. No one could hear her. No one cared. “Shut _up_.”

_What if you died? Would anyone care?_

_If you threw yourself out your window, would your parents cry if they found your body in the morning?_

_If you swallowed a bottle of pills, would your sister only care that you’d stolen from her stash?_

_If you pitched yourself off the school roof, would your friends be upset? Do you even have friends?_

_If you threw yourself off the balcony, right now, and landed, splat, like a bloody pancake at the feet of those guards, who would care? Your parents? Your sister? Your friends? The guards might care – you might get blood on their boots._

_Maybe you should. Prove a point. Give your parents one more blemish on their not-so-spotless reputation._

_Maybe it’d be better._

_So why not, Henley?_

_Just jump._

There was something smooth under her hands, and warm. Metal. She was at the balcony, holding onto the railing. The wind was pulling at her clothes. How did she get here?

_Jump._

It’d be so easy, wouldn’t it? Just climb up, lean forward, and boom. No more Henley.

 _Jump_.

She’d be free. No more parents, no more sister, no more fake friends and faceless guards and people who pretended to care about her.

 _Jump_.

No more anything. No more voice in her head, whispering, she’d finally be free, even if she was dead. She could finally be herself, like she had with–

Henley’s heart stopped beating.

_The Horsemen._

Everything suddenly went still. No breeze, no birds chirping, just her and the sun, alone on her balcony. It was nearing its peak in the sky, warming her skin, turning everything so bright it hurt her eyes.

Henley realized she was crying, and then she started to sob.

_The Horsemen._

_Dylan. Jack. Lula. Merritt. Alma. Danny._

_Her_ Horsemen _._

Henley screamed, grabbed the nearest thing she could find, and threw it off her balcony and as far away as she could. She watched it sail through the air – it was a flower pot, she realized, hanging over the edge of the balcony. She heard it crash as it hit the ground a good ways away, loud and satisfying, much better than kicking the door. The sad pile of broken clay and dirt scattered across the stamped concrete, close to the outer wall, the pink and white flowers wilted and crushed.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered brokenly. It wasn’t – it never had been. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair, _it’s not fair._ ”

She wanted to go home.

“I want to go home,” she sobbed, slapping her palm to the balcony railing. It sent shockwaves up her arm, good waves. They made her feel something.

She missed feeling things. All she ever felt around her parents was numb. Because feeling anything else… that just led to trouble, and screaming, and maybe getting backhanded if they were in the privacy of their own home. The sense of fury in her father’s eyes, more menacing than the ominous threat of _Tressler_ had ever been, the silence, the way he’d grit his teeth when he was about to explode. Her mother, cold and uncaring, a string of pearls always around her neck like Martha Wayne. It would’ve saved Henley so much trouble if she _was_ Martha Wayne. That meant Henley was Batman. That meant her parents were dead.

 _Now look at you_ , the voice whispered. _You want your parents dead. You don’t deserve to be alive with an attitude like that._

Maybe it was right. She shouldn’t want that. Maybe it’d be better if she just jumped.

And then–

 _“Well.”_ That was Danny, in a memory, smiling like a puppy dog, his floppy hair getting in his eyes like always. _“I want your parents dead too. And I think we both deserve to be alive, Henley Reeves. Don’t you agree?”_

They were eating ice cream. Henley could still taste it – rocky road.

She wondered what flavor Danny had gotten. He’d probably remember better. He always loved ice cream.

 _Loved_ , she realized. _Past tense._

“He’s not dead,” she said aloud.

It was silent, like the world didn’t know how to answer, and then Henley realized she was standing at her balcony, pressed to the railing, talking to no one but herself.

“He’s not dead,” she repeated. “None of them are.”

Silence, again, so she said it again. And again. The more she said it, the more she believed it.

“They’re not dead,” she said. She wiped her eyes, sniffed, stared out at the back wall. It wasn’t that far away, was it? She’d just thrown a flower pot almost all the way to it. “They’re not dead.” Maybe she could get out that way. But the guards would see her. “They’re not dead.” Her mind whirred; maybe she couldn’t get out that way, but she could use it as a distraction. Before she was a magician, Henley was a hacker. And all she needed to hack her way out of here was…

“They’re not dead,” Henley said, taking a deep breath. She stared out at the wall, the sun still rising in the sky. Everything was clear. “They’re not dead, and I’m going to find them.”

Henley Reeves inhaled, exhaled, and made herself smile, clenching her fists around the balcony railing. She could do this. She was Henley Reeves, best escape artist under the age of thirty. Her heels had knives. She could hack the NSA. Her father was Dylan Shrike. She lived in a van and was one of the Horsemen.

 _Jump,_ the voice whispered again.

“Shut up,” she told it.

She turned away from the railing and put her hands on her hips, staring into her room with a smirk. She could do this. She could do anything. She was Henley Reeves.

But first, she had to get rid of those pesky cameras.


	33. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's giving you fuckers daily updates  
> I'll give you three guesses

“Ow!”

Alma shook her head, continuing to dab at Dylan’s wounds with an alcohol-dampened cotton ball, ignoring his sounds of protest. “It would hurt less if you stayed still,” she said.

“It wouldn’t hurt at all if you stopped cleaning them.”

“And what makes you think I’ll do that?”

She pressed the cotton ball to the cut over his eye again, and he hissed, glaring at her. But there was no heat to it – there never was. Alma just smirked again and lifted her hand, the sting fading. Dylan looked away, smiling.

He’d missed her. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.

“Alright,” she said, pulling away to examine Dylan’s face. “I think you’ll be okay. Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?”

“Promise,” he said, getting to his feet. His ribs were still aching, but they were bruised, not broken. As were his knees, really, and probably his stomach too, but nothing else was bleeding, so Dylan figured he didn’t need to bother Alma with them. Not much anyone could do for bruises, anyway. They’d heal with time.

Alma shut the first aid kit and gathered up the used cotton balls and band-aid wrappers, tossing them into the trash before standing up herself. She gave Dylan a fleeting smile before walking over to the car and placing the kit back inside. Dylan, still feeling a little unsteady, followed her over.

“Thank you,” he said as Alma shut the car door. She turned and gave him a smile.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I just wish I didn’t have to do it so often.”

“Why? I thought I looked pretty dashing half beat up and limping.”

Alma shook her head and smiled like she was trying not to laugh. Dylan smiled too, hands shoved in his pockets, and then the pair fell silent, meeting each other’s eyes.

“I, uh…” Dylan tried to say something – _what_ he was saying he had no idea, but he knew he had to fill the silence. Somehow. “I… Alma, look–”

The back door banged open, loud enough to distract them both, and suddenly Jack, Lula, and Li all ran through the door, giggling like toddlers and high-fiving each other. Dylan raised an eyebrow, and he and Alma looked at each other – seemed like the kids were becoming fast friends.

“Hey Dylan!” Lula said, waving as they ran past. “Li just taught us how to hotwire a car!”

Dylan and Alma both gave Li a pointed look, but the teen just shrugged and gave them a mischievous smile.

“It seems like a good skill for any up and coming magician to have,” he said.

Dylan couldn’t argue with that, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

“Okay. Well.” Dylan sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Have any of you heard from Allen or Bu Bu yet? It’s been two hours, they should be back by now.”

“Don’t worry about them, Dylan, they’re probably on their way right now,” Jack told him. He could tell Dylan was nervous – since when were his kids the ones comforting _him?_ “Lula’s been asking about them nonstop too.”

“Hey, I left five animals in that van,” Lula said, punching Jack lightly on the shoulder. He just grinned. “I want to make sure they’re okay.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, _five_ animals?” Dylan asked.

“How do you have five animals?” Alma asked, glancing at Dylan, who was just as bewildered as she was. “Five animals that _no one else_ happened to notice?”

“I thought you just had the hamster,” Dylan mumbled.

Lula shook her head, grinning broadly. “Nope, I’ve got five,” she said. And then she started counting off with her fingers. “I’ve got Veronica the hamster, Squab the dove, Ezekiel the other dove, Lula Junior the _third_ dove, and Kevin.”

Alma and Dylan looked at each other again, this time more out of concern. “Uh, what’s Kevin?” Dylan asked.

“He’s a _bunny_ , Dylan, duh. Every magician needs a bunny, I thought that was obvious.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Completely obvious.” He and Alma shared another look – how the hell had neither of them managed to notice _five animals_ in the van with them? How had Dylan not noticed for a _year?_

“Anyway,” Lula said, “when Allen and Bu Bu get back with the van, the first thing I’m doing is feeding them. Just so you know.”

“That sounds like a very good plan, Lula,” Alma said. Dylan was still trying to figure out how he hadn’t noticed _three goddamn doves_ in his van somehow. Was Lula actually magical? He was starting to believe she was. “But after that, we need to make plans, so don’t take too long, okay?”

Lula nodded seriously, and then Li gestured them towards another corner of the warehouse, and Lula and Jack said goodbye and ran off with hurried waves. Dylan and Alma waved back, watching them run out of sight.

“Well,” Alma said, “they seem to have gotten their spirits back. That’s good.”

Dylan just shook his head. “A _rabbit?_ ” he said, and Alma realized he was still thinking about the animals and couldn’t help but smile. “How did I not notice she had a _fucking rabbit_ with her? For a _year?_ ”

“Dylan.” Alma grabbed his hands and held them, stepping into his space, and suddenly all he could see were her face and her eyes and her smile. “They’re magicians. How do you think they kept them hidden?”

He just shook his head in disbelief, still trying to understand. “I normally notice,” he said. Alma just kept smiling. “But they’re so talented, Alma. It’s like second nature to them. And they pick it up so fast.”

She squeezed his hands, and he met her eyes again. “Well,” she said, “they did learn from the best, didn’t they?”

Dylan blinked, surprised, but then he smiled too, slowly, like the expression was just learning how to creep back onto his face. He hadn’t taught those kids everything they knew, but he’d taught them a lot. Alma was right. In a way, Lula hiding five animals in a van with seven other people and _no one noticing_ was more impressive than any feat of magic Dylan had ever done. And… he was kind of proud of her.

Alma was still smiling at him, he realized, still holding his hands in her own, and Dylan noticed they were close enough to feel each other’s breath, for him to spot flecks of golden brown in her blue-gray eyes, and he glanced down at her lips without thinking. They were close, so close, and then he saw Alma glance down too, so he leaned forward a little and thought _maybe_ , _maybe she’ll meet me in the middle_. And then she leaned forward and too, forward and up, just a hair, enough for him to notice. Her pupils had gone wide. He had a feeling his had too.

But then – _they were close, they were so close_ – a pair of car engines revved not too far away, one of them Dylan recognizing immediately, and they both pulled apart quickly as if some silent agreement had passed between them. Alma blushed, looking away, and Dylan did the same, feeling for all the world like a teenage boy with a crush.

 _You were close_ , he thought. _And she leaned in too_.

For a moment, that was all he could focus on.

“They’re back!” Lula screeched from somewhere in the warehouse, and a split second later, all three kids sprinted into view, Li enlisting Jack and Lula’s help in opening the warehouse doors. He could see the cars now – one was a rusty pick-up truck Allen had bought from a nearby junk yard, since the black SUV might be recognized on cameras. The other was a van, _their_ van, with a thin coat of cheap white paint over the surface to hide the logo underneath. To everyone but the Horsemen, that was adequate enough camouflage to hide the van, but to them, they could recognize the sound of that engine anywhere.

It was their home. It had been for a year, and, Dylan realized, it still was. For some of them, it was the only home they’d ever known.

And now they had to go bring the rest of them back.

Dylan looked back at Alma then, smiling, and she was smiling too, still holding his hands, her eyes kind and considerate and just _hers_ , so completely hers that Dylan wanted to melt into them forever.

 _Later_ , he thought, and he could see it in her eyes that she understood. _Later. After we find the kids again_.

He could let himself be happy once they were safe.

Alma just smiled and nodded, and then she surprised him by leaning up on her toes and kissing him on the cheek, light and soft, and then she pulled away and slipped her hands out of his. One more smile over her shoulder, and then she walked towards the doors to meet Bu Bu and Allen, leaving him by the SUV, watching her go.

Dylan blinked, surprised, the spot on his cheek where she’d kissed him tingling like he’d been shocked by lightning. But then something warm settled into his chest, and Dylan smiled.

 _I love her_ , he realized.

Just as much as he loved those kids, but differently. In a way he hadn’t loved anyone before.

And he was willing to bet she loved him too.

Dylan just shook his head and smiled, Bu Bu and Allen hopping out of their vehicles and Lula yelling in excitement when all her animals turned out to be safe and sound. Alma laughed as one of Lula’s doves landed on her shoulder and cooed. Li was helping Jack peel a strip of the white paint away, revealing part of the Horsemen logo they’d painted on so long ago. It was like seeing an old friend.

 _First, get the kids back_ , Dylan thought. Our _kids. And then… then we can be happy_.

But staring out at everyone, laughing and smiling before the storm finally hit, he couldn’t help but be a little happy too.

* * *

Henley was wondering if being covered in glass and splinters was in any way helping her obtain the “just survived the apocalypse” look she’d always wanted.

She’d realized quickly, after deciding to destroy all the cameras, that she would probably have no idea whether or not she had _actually_ destroyed all the cameras, so instead of going on a wild goose chase to right this blatant breach of privacy, Henley had chosen to destroy her entire room. Which, admittedly, may have been a more emotionally charged decision than most, but it made sense. If she destroyed enough of the room, eventually, she’d either destroy all the cameras or they’d move her somewhere else. Or both.

She’d just kicked out one of the bars on her railing to use to smash things with when her “warden” issued his first warning.

“A weapon won’t help you against trained security guards in body armor, kid,” he said over the speakers. Henley scowled and added speakers to the list of things she would destroy first. “You’re being an idiot.”

 _No, I’m not_ , she thought, but she hid her smile and picked up the iron bar, the metal cool and gritty in her hand.

“Better I go down swinging,” Henley growled, knowing he’d hear it. Then she found her first speaker and broke it into pieces with her makeshift crowbar.

After that, he didn’t say much else.

She broke things wildly, trying to make it seem like she was an angry teenager on a destructive spree – which wasn’t hard, considering she _was_ that, at least partially. Slowly but surely, she made her way to the bathroom, leaving destruction in her wake, until she stepped inside and stopped in front of the mirror.

Looking at herself felt… weird. Not wrong, just, well, weird. The last time she’d seen her reflection in a mirror this ornate, she’d been a different person, a rebellious daughter with a skill for escape artistry, a walking suicide risk that her parents chose to ignore. Now, she was… well, she still was all those things. But she’d grown more in the past year than she had in her whole life. Her magic had gotten better. So had her family – her real family.

Henley did have bags under her eyes though, and she looked about as exhausted as she felt. But the wood splinters and shards of glass and bits and smudges of rubble really did accentuate that Apocalypse Survivor look. It was the little things in life.

Henley Reeves smiled and lifted her metal bar, smashing it into the mirror with all the force she could muster.

It shattered, and the glass fell in pieces onto the counter below, making a satisfying crash and tinkle sound as the shards settled all over her counter and the floor. Behind it, imbedded into the wall, Henley found another camera.

She scowled and leaned up into it.

“I don’t even get any privacy in the _bathroom_ , assholes?” she growled, not even having to act. “What the hell is your problem?!”

She smashed the camera before her warden – or her parents – had a chance to answer. If this shit ever got out, social services would have a goddamn field day with her parents.

Henley smirked; maybe she should add that to her master plan. At least then, if she was caught, she wouldn’t go back to _them_.

She sighed and looked around, wondering if she should destroy more of the bathroom or not, because it really was a nice bathroom, even if it was part of a prison. On instinct, her hand reached for her back pocket, ready to grab her phone to snap a photo before she really did start swinging, just to preserve what was left of this place. Then she realized, oh right, her phone was gone. It’d been gone since Thaddeus Bradley scooped her up. Idiot.

But then she realized again… there _was_ something in her pocket. Not her back pocket, where her phone would be, but one of her front pockets, the small ones that could never fit anything of value (stupid goddamn women’s pants having no pockets bullshit). It was a weird bump, like the pocket was folded in on itself and something was still inside. Something Bradley and the guards may have missed.

She reached her hand inside, shifting her tight pants a little so she could actually get her hand in the pocket, and her fingers wrapped around three small pellets she recognized immediately.

 _Smoke pellets,_ Henley realized. _I put these in here a week ago to prank Danny and never took them out. And we never had time to wash our clothes between then and show day_.

She’d thrown these pants on because they were her only relatively clean pair of nice-looking black pants, and they matched the all-black outfit style they had going, and Henley had always liked black skinny jeans anyway. They had the added bonus of looking vaguely formal but still being easy to move in, and aside from the pockets, they were her favorite pair of pants.

And now, they’d just given her something that might help her in the future.

Or… they could help her _now_.

Henley heard the front door buzz and swing open, and she immediately pulled the smoke pellets out of her pocket and hid them up her sleeve. Then she walked out of the bathroom, holding her railing souvenir like a baseball bat.

“What,” she yelled at the three security guys that’d stepped into her room. “Come to take me to the dungeon since I couldn’t handle the tower?”

They looked at each other, and Henley cringed internally – _dial back the dramatics, Henley, you’re not_ that _much of a nerd_.

“Your parents want to see you,” one of the men said. Henley recognized his voice – he was the warden. He looked about as fed up with her antics as she thought he’d be. Good. “Put the stick down, or we’ll pull out the tasers. And I doubt you’d want to give your parents the satisfaction of getting dragged into the living room by your ankles.”

Henley had to admit, he brought up a fair point. “They’ll get satisfaction either way,” she snapped, “I’m a prisoner in my own house.”

“Yeah, you are. But if you fight us, you’ll lose. So what’s it gonna be?”

Henley made a show of deciding, of changing her face and slowly dropping the metal bar until she let it fall to the ground with a clang. But in her mind, she already had a plan, and she had to be fully in control of her body to execute it – getting tasered would be a bad idea.

One of the guards had an iPad in his hands and was tapping away furiously while the other two watched Henley like a hawk.

An iPad, one that probably controlled everything in the house. Rich people were so predictable.

That was all she would need, _if_ she managed to grab it.

Henley let the three guards lead her out, the warden up front and the other two behind, hands on their tasers just in case she tried anything. She didn’t; she wasn’t stupid. For this crazy, pieced-together-at-the-last-minute-in-her-brain plan to work, she had to be in an open space and able to maneuver. The guards probably wouldn’t let her have two feet of space outside a locked room, but she doubted her parents would like being crowded by guards while they yelled at their daughter.

She felt her hands curl into fists, and Henley, even though she was scared, could feel anger boiling in her stomach.

_They’re not my parents._

_They never were my parents._

Eventually, the three guards led Henley into the living room, which hadn’t changed at all in the year she’d been gone. Her parents were sitting on the couch, the perfect picture of a disappointed couple, and Henley could _feel_ the fury radiating off them.

It scared her, more than she wanted to admit. Her parents terrified her.

But for once, she was more angry than afraid.

 _Henley Reeves has a plan_.

“Henley,” her father began tersely, gritting his teeth in the way Henley knew his hand was itching to hit something. Usually her. Her mother lifted her hand, and the guards pulled back to give the family gathering a little space, moving towards the edges of the room – Henley kept her peripherals on the guy with the iPad.

“What,” her father continued, and Henley could hear the tension in his voice – her stomach twisted itself into knots. “What exactly. Did you think would happen, if you destroyed the room we gave you?”

“We spent a lot of money on that,” her mother informed her. _Really? Henley hadn’t noticed_. “The damages are coming out of your inheritance.”

“I have an inheritance?” Henley asked, surprised. Her father scoffed bitterly.

“Not if you keep this up,” he replied.

Henley glared at him, fire blazing in her eyes, and her father shifted forward just slightly, threateningly. _Don’t glare at me like that, young lady_ , he used to say. She kept doing it anyway.

Henley had a feeling she’d never truly be unafraid of her parents, of her father.

But she didn’t have to be fearless. She just had to be brave.

“Good,” Henley said. There was a plan in her mind, a plan shifting and changing with every new piece of information she learned. “I don’t want any of your money.”

She’d noticed cameras in the corners of the room while she was being led in. If she had enough evidence…

“You’ll change your mind, sweetie,” her mother said. Smiling. “There’s quite a lot of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Henley snapped. “But I don’t need it.”

Her father’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Henley’s heart leapt into her throat. “Don’t talk back to your mother,” he growled.

Henley swallowed and steeled her gaze. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” she replied.

A pause.

She was crossing the line, and her parents were so close to snapping.

“Excuse me?” her father asked. Dangerously, quietly.

“You heard me,” Henley replied.

Her father stood up suddenly, the movement making Henley jump, and he took a step forward. Her mother just sat on the couch, looking disappointed. Henley stood her ground.

“Show your parents some _respect_ , Henley,” her father ordered.

Some respect?

Oh, she’d show them some respect.

Henley’s voice was shaking, just like her hands, like her entire body, but somehow she managed to hold her father’s gaze and raise her voice. “You’re holding me against my will in a house that’s never been my home,” she said. And then she started yelling. “I’ve never been good enough for you, never, not once. You’ve been controlling me and abusing me since the day you realized I would never be your perfect daughter, and guess what? I don’t care anymore! I’m your prisoner, not your daughter, I don’t have to give you _jack shit_ of my respect!”

Her father’s hand whipped up and backhanded her across the face, hard enough to send her stumbling a little in the opposite direction. The sting felt like fire across her face, and there were tears of pain in her eyes, but Henley almost wanted to smile.

 _Bingo_.

“Sir!” Henley looked up and saw the warden – and his guards too – step forward just a little, the leader’s face conflicted and a little horrified.

 _What_ , she thought suddenly, _they locked me in a room straight out of George Orwell’s worst nightmare and stuck an army on my ass. Did you seriously think our home life would be any better?_

 Henley figured people saw what they wanted to see. At least, until they saw something they couldn’t un-see.

“Step back, Corky,” her father snapped. His eyes were still on Henley – ice cold with a terrifying rage underneath. “This doesn’t concern you. This is a family matter.”

“But, sir, this is–”

“I will fire you, right now,” her father snapped, and Corky the warden almost looked like he’d argue, but then the glanced at his guards and took a step back, looking guilty as hell.

Henley straightened back up, standing tall, chin held high. Her hands were curled into fists, but she shook her arm a little, and three smoke pellets slipped into her hand. _Now or never, Reeves_.

“You’re our daughter, Henley,” her father told her. Like that’d change all he’d done. “We do this because we love you.”

Like she hadn’t heard that before, every day of her life.

She’d believed it once. Not anymore.

“I’m not your daughter,” Henley replied, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I’m a Horseman.”

Then she chucked the pellets at the ground by her feet, engulfing the entire room in smoke, and sprinted towards the guard with the iPad before anyone even realized what was happening.

Her mother screamed, and the men yelled in surprise, but Henley was already moving. She snatched the thing out of the guy’s hand, coughing as she tried not to breath in smoke, and ran through a door before he had time to yell, and then she was out of the smoke room and running for her life through her own house. People were screaming and shouting behind her, and she turned a corner and heard another door to the living room bang open. _They were out_.

Henley sprinted to the kitchens and took a glance at her new iPad.

Oh, how convenient. It was already on the house page.

She found a button that unlocked every door in the house – in case of a fire, probably – and pressed it, and then she sped past a few terrified chefs in the kitchens and burst out the door that led to the back garden. Then she shut the door again and pressed another button that re-locked every door in the house. Trapped, at least for the time being.

“Shit, okay,” Henley said, glancing around the garden. It was night again, and Henley suddenly realized this was the second night in a row that she’d be running for her life through a garden at night. Great. “Step two. Get out of here.”

There was a back gate to the vegetable garden that led immediately out to the street. She used to use it all the time to sneak out, as did several of the wait staff; hopefully, it hadn’t been upgraded too.

When she found it, an alarm was already blaring in the house behind her, and the back gate needed a keycard to unlock.

 _Shit_ , she thought, scrolling through the iPad, trying to find a way to open it in the next thirty seconds. _Shit, shit, shit_.

She was not going back into that house. She wasn’t.

Henley glanced up and realized no one else was around, at least not yet, though she could hear people yelling not too far away. So, figuring she should use the last of her freedom wisely, she pulled up the video feeds and started emailing every single one to her private email account.

Not exactly foolproof, but if she did, by some miracle, manage to get out of here, she could download them and send them to social services. The fact that she was being videotaped _alone_ would earn her parents a one-way trip to losing custody, not to mention the physical and mental abuse. Henley couldn’t wait for the scandal that would erupt.

She heard a noise behind her and whipped around, pressing her back to the gate, and the warden ran into view.

He held her gaze, something in his eyes changing. Steeling.

Then he yanked the card off his belt and tossed it to her. She caught it mostly out of surprise.

“Get out of here, kid,” he said.

 _You could’ve done this earlier_ , Henley thought.

But she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth right about now, not with an alarm blaring in the house and her family’s private army right on her tail. She quickly turned around and swiped the card, and the gate buzzed open. Then she dropped the card and sprinted out of the grounds and onto the sidewalk, clutching the iPad to her chest like the lifeline Henley knew it was.

The street was lit by lamps, but there was no one around, so Henley sprinted across the street and ran as fast as she could into the yards ahead. She checked the iPad – none of the videos had completely sent yet. They were huge files, though. It’d take a while for them to do anything.

She ran between the huge fences and walls people had put up around their properties and emerged on another street, sprinting to her left until she came to a small grassy area. Henley shoved the iPad under a bush and kept running. The videos would keep downloading there – as for right now, she had to figure out how to stay ahead of her parents’ private army.

Then Henley turned a corner and sprinted across the street, and she registered the screeching of breaks and blinding headlights before she even realized there was a car.

“Shit!”

 _Slam_.

Henley was suddenly flying backwards and crashing back-first into the pavement, wind knocked out of her lungs, head reeling. She wasn’t dead – _she wasn’t dead, thank god_ – the car must not have hit her as hard as it could’ve. It did hurt though. Her whole body kind of hurt. No sharp pains, no broken bones, but there was a dull ache everywhere, and stinging on her back, and she still couldn’t breathe.

She laid there on the pavement, gasping, trying to suck air into her lungs and figure out exactly how hurt she was, when she heard a car door open and close. Footsteps approached her. The motor still running.

Henley blinked a few times and focused her eyes, and then she saw Thaddeus Bradley standing above her, looking a little guilty but mostly amused.

“Sorry about that, Reeves,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t think you’d be running out in front of my car.”

She had enough sense in her to give him the finger before he said anything else.

He chuckled.

“I was making plans to go in there and get you myself,” he said, picking her up off the ground. He was holding her up by her arms, pulling her into almost standing while her diaphragm spasmed. “Guess I didn’t need to. You’re quite the resourceful girl, Henley.”

Henley finally managed to suck in some air and her chest heaved itself up and down, trying to pull more oxygen into her bloodstream so she could properly struggle and snap back a reply. _Out of the frying pan, into the fire_ , she thought as Bradley pulled his car door back open. _Well, not really. More like out of the fire and into a slightly better but no less inconvenient fire_.

Of course Thaddeus Bradley nearly ran her over two minutes into her big escape. Of course.

“Nothing broken?” he asked, grabbing a pair of handcuffs out of his door compartment and snapping one cuff on her wrist. He snapped the other onto his own. _Shit_. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. He raised an eyebrow.

“Nice bruise,” he said, looking at her face. “Your parents give that to you?”

“You knew perfectly well what they were like,” she said, trying to yank away. He shoved her into the front seat instead, pushing her until she slid into the passenger seat so he could drive.

“I did,” he admitted. “But I didn’t think they’d do that. Besides, they were only a temporary fix.”

Henley’s brows furrowed, and she stared at Bradley as he shut his door and started driving away. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I thought you were taking me to my parents.”

“Oh, I was,” he said. There was something hidden underneath his scowl, a hidden anger of some sort, and Henley really didn’t like it. “And I’ve done that. Earned quite a good bit of money off that trade too. And now my second employer wants you back.”

“Your second employer?” Henley asked. “Who the hell is that?”

They sped under a traffic light, the green light illuminating the small smile pulling at Thaddeus Bradley’s face.

 “Who do you think, Henley?” he asked. “I’m taking you to Arthur Tressler.”


	34. Say Cheese

Thaddeus had her blindfolded the rest of the way to Tressler’s mansion, but it wasn’t as far as Henley thought it’d be. Then again, most of the ostentatious places to live in L.A. were fairly close together, so Henley probably should’ve guessed that would be the case. Her parents didn’t skimp when it came to presentations of wealth through their illustrious household. Obviously, Tressler didn’t either.

She didn’t realize they were there until Bradley put the car in park and unlocked the cuff around his hand. Then he snapped it onto her other wrist and patted her shoulder.

“I wouldn’t try to run, if I were you,” he said. “They’ve got gunmen trained on the car from all angles.”

Henley whistled. “Wow, Tressler doesn’t skimp, does he?” she asked.

“Not for the youngest escape artist in the world, he doesn’t.”

There was a hint of pride in Thaddeus Bradley’s voice, and a bit of it bled into Henley’s own.

 _Damn, I am good_.

“Time to go,” he said, and then the car door opened and Henley was roughly pulled out by her arms, shouting in surprise and a little pain. She struggled some, wondering if she could manage to break free, and then one of the men took off her blindfold and told her to take a look around.

Jeez, there really were gunmen trained on her from all sides. What was this, an action movie? Did every filthy rich resident of Los Angeles, California have their own private army?

“I’d stop struggling if I were you,” one of the men holding her said.

She glared at him as he and his partner led her towards the mansion, Bradley close behind. “You wouldn’t kill me,” she said.

“No, but I doubt a bullet to the leg would do you any good, would it, kid?”

Henley gritted her teeth and stopped struggling. Fine. She’d find another way out of this. She always did, right?

It didn’t take a lot of brainpower for Henley to realize she was in a parking garage (a huge parking garage, with at LEAST three Aston Martins, what the hell), but the men quickly herded both her and Bradley out of the garage and down a nondescript hallway. They paused in a small room, and three separate people padded Henley up and down, taking every useful item she might conceivably use to escape off her person. Not that there was much, since her parents had covered most everything, but they found a bobby pin in her hair that _she_ hadn’t even managed to find, and the rest of their pat down felt a little too akin to groping to be comfortable, so Henley figured everything of value that might’ve been hidden somewhere on her was definitely gone. No getting out of this now.

Once the practically-a-strip-search was over, the guards herded both her and Bradley (who hadn’t been searched _nearly_ as thoroughly, thank you very much) out of the room and down another hallway. Eventually, they slipped through a space in the wall and emerged in what must’ve been the foyer. It was pretty much exactly what she’d expected. Marble staircase, gold leaf everything, expensive plants and oriental rugs. The place looked like a goddamn palace.

Oh, and there was Arthur Tressler, standing at the top of the staircase with his demon child Walter, grinning down at her like the Satan incarnates they were.

Dramatic assholes.

“Henley Reeves,” Arthur Tressler began, descending the stairs with Walter close behind. Henley scowled – she thought _she’d_ been dramatic with the smoke pellets. She had nothing on the Tresslers. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

“You aren’t looking too great, Henley,” Walter said with a devilish grin. “Enjoy your stay with your parents?”

Henley glared at the pair of them, making it very clear just how she felt about the entire situation. The elder Tressler smiled.

“Still feisty, I see,” he said. “You should be grateful to your parents, dear girl. They’re most of the reason I kept away from you all these years.”

Henley scoffed. “Really?” she asked. “And what else should I be grateful for? The years of emotional and physical abuse? Oh, or maybe it’s the kidnapping and locking me up against my will. Yeah, that sounds good. You and my parents should exchange pointers.”

Tressler just kept smiling, like a cat about to eat the canary, except this canary wasn’t going to shut up and take it. Walter sighed and examined his cuticles, bored.

“Oh, this is refreshing,” Arthur Tressler said. “A nice break from those pitiful whiners in the basement. They haven’t started screaming yet, have they, dear boy?”

Walter shrugged, still bored, but Henley’s heart leapt into her throat. _Who do they have?_ “You told me I should be a little gentler,” he said. “And screaming gives me a headache. You can break someone down without doing all that.”

“Who do you have?” Henley asked, and some of the desperation crept into her voice. She ran through what she knew about the botched mission in her mind, trying to figure out who they might have caught. Danny for sure, and Merritt, but did they have Jack and Lula? And Dylan? What about Alma? Had the FBI gotten them first, and Tressler had pulled the strings until they ended up in his lap? Had Henley been the last Horsemen out of his grasp, and now she’d stupidly ended up right where he wanted her?

Walter gave her another wicked smile, and Henley knew that whoever he had in his clutches had seen that smile plenty over the past few hours. It chilled her more than she cared to admit. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” Walter said. Then he nodded. “Guards, escort her to her fellow Horsemen.”

“Wait.”

Thaddeus Bradley put a hand on Henley’s shoulder, clutching her like a prized possession. _Ow_ , Henley thought. “What about my money?” he asked.

Tressler gave him a look. “We discussed this over the phone.”

“We had a deal,” Bradley continued. He was angry. “I deliver Reeves to you, you give me the second half of my agreed payment, and we go on our merry way.”

“As I recall, the deal was you keep the Horsemen out of the FBI’s hands, Thaddeus,” Tressler said smoothly. “Did you?”

“I’m sure you have plenty of connections in the FBI. I doubt it’ll be much of a problem to get them back.”

“Oh, but it is.” Tressler leveled a glare at Bradley, one that would’ve cut through solid steel. “Involving law enforcement muddles up any clandestine operation, Mr. Bradley. And unfortunately for you, my people in the FBI _couldn’t_ deliver the Horsemen to me, because the Eye liberated them first.”

Thaddeus’s grip on her shoulder tightened, but Henley barely noticed, her breath hitching before she realized.

 _The Eye_ , she thought. _They came for us. For_ them _, at least. They do exist, they do care!_

This changed everything. With the Eye on their side, they stood more than just a fighting chance. Maybe they could still take Tressler down once and for all.

The problem would be getting evidence.

And Henley’s hacking stick had been MIA since she woke up in Thaddeus Bradley’s car.

_Wait… Bradley…_

“That wasn’t supposed to be my problem,” Bradley spat, still angry at Tressler. Both he and Walter were now at the base of the stairs, closer to Thaddeus and Henley than before. “I could’ve taken Reeves and ran. But I didn’t, because–”

“Because you knew that’d end with you face down in a ditch and Reeves whisked away before you could do a thing about it,” Walter finished, smugly. “People don’t back out of deals with my father, Mr. Bradley. We thought you knew that?”

Thaddeus’s jaw tightened again, and then, in a flash, he’d pulled Henley off her balance and had a knife pressed to her neck. His other arm was wrapped around her torso. Henley heard every gun safety in the hall click off almost at once as every guard in the area pointed their barrels at her and Bradley.

“Bradley, what are you–?” Henley hissed, but a dig into her neck with the knife effectively shut her up.

“I could kill her,” Thaddeus said, threateningly. “Right now. Don’t think that’d bode well for your investment into my bank account, would it?”

Tressler just chuckled, like the sudden action towards taking Henley’s life didn’t matter at all. “We have people that can take care of that, Mr. Bradley,” he said. “Don’t be a fool. My men could shoot you through the head right now and get nothing but brains and blood on young Ms. Reeves’ beautiful face.”

Henley swallowed. “I’d prefer to not get blood and brains on my face,” she said, “if that makes any difference.”

“Quiet, Reeves,” Bradley hissed, digging the knife further into her skin, but just as he did so, Henley felt something else slip into her pocket, something small and a little heavy. Something she recognized almost immediately.

_The stick._

_He gave me back my hacker stick_.

Henley managed to cover up her shock with a dangerous hiss, which wasn’t hard, considering she was literally one flick of Bradley’s wrist away from certain death. Bradley just kept staring Tressler down, making a show of deciding what to do.

 _This was all for the stick_ , she thought. _He did this so he could give it to me. Why would he give it to me?_

 _Because exposing Tressler himself would paint a target on his back the size of Canada,_ she realized. _Thanks, you selfish prick._

Still, this was the first real stroke of luck to happen to Henley in a while, and even if it was done mostly for revenge and cowardice, it was still hope, and Henley was still going to cling to it like nothing else.

Another tense moment, and then Bradley lowered his arm and clicked his knife back into its handle, shoving Henley away. Guards grabbed them both, restraining Thaddeus and supporting Henley.

“You’ll pay for this,” Bradley said, threateningly.

Tressler just sighed. “Please escort Mr. Bradley off the premises,” he said, tiredly. “I believe he’s caused enough trouble for one day.”

“I can ruin your life.”

“And I can ruin yours. Have a good day, Thaddeus.”

Thaddeus Bradley was promptly pulled out of the room by the guards, back the way they came, but Henley caught his eyes before he left, and he gave her a small nod.

 _Make him pay_ , he seemed to say. _Make the bastard pay._

Henley narrowed her eyes and looked back at Tressler, steeling her gaze.

 _I’ll make him pay, alright_ , she thought. _Just not for you_.

* * *

When the door to the basement creaked open and spilled light into their little circle of hell, Danny had been half asleep, and for a moment, he thought he was dreaming.

Because instead of Walter and Chase stomping down those stairs, ready to torture them to no end, or Arthur Tressler with news about the other Horsemen, or some guards asking if they needed food or the bathroom or anything else–

“Here you are,” Walter said, shoving a form Danny recognized immediately down the last half of the stairs. “Reunited at last. I love bringing people together.”

Henley Reeves stumbled down the stairs and landed on the concrete on her hands and knees, groaning, in pain, with a bruise on her face and rubble in her hair. Her hands were cuffed in front of her, and she’d obviously been searched for anything she could use to lock pick, but she was here, she was alive, and Danny almost thought he was hallucinating.

“Henley,” he croaked out, and then he winced, because god, was that really what his voice sounded like? The sickness was really getting to him, wasn’t it? Across the room, Merritt stirred from whatever restless sleep he’d been trying to get, and then his eyes shot open and he stared at Henley too.

Henley looked up, red hair falling into her face, and she smiled.

“Hey boys,” she said. “Miss me?”

They stared at her, and then Merritt and Danny just started laughing, because honestly, what else was there to do? Henley kept smiling and got to her feet, just as Walter reached the base of the stairs behind her. He scowled.

“Quiet,” he said, shoving Henley again, and this time when she fell she hissed, scraping her knees against the concrete. Her gloves were still on though, protecting her palms. Good for her. Walter pulled a phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Say cheese.”

He snapped a photo, the flash making Danny see stars and wince away, and then Walter slipped the phone back into his pocket and scowled some more.

“You’re lucky the plan has changed, Atlas,” Walter said, walking back up the stairs. “But as soon as we have the rest of the Horsemen, I’ll make good on my promise.”

He slipped outside and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving them alone in the darkness, but all Danny could think about was Henley, Henley breathing heavily in the darkness next to them, Henley alive and maybe not well but well enough, Henley not cuffed to a pole, Henley here, with them, as selfish as that seemed.

“Guessing he promised to torture me in front of both of you, right?” Henley asked, slowly getting to her feet. Danny’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness – he could see her moving around. “Can’t wait for that.”

“Hen, you absolute bastard,” Merritt said, the grin evident in his voice. Henley laughed. “It’s good to see you. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said. “You guys didn’t look very good in the light.”

“We aren’t,” Danny rasped. He wanted Henley to come closer, to hug him or hold his hand or _something_ , but Merritt was there too, and she’d probably go to him first. He wouldn’t blame her. “They’ve been kn-knocking us around. And I’m sick.”

He coughed, as if to emphasize the point, but it was really just his lungs being stupid. Henley glanced towards Merritt, and Merritt gently moved his heads in Danny’s direction. _Go to him._

 _Shut up, Merritt_ , Danny thought. _I don’t need you helping me._

But Henley came all the same, kneeling down next to him, so close he could feel the warmth radiating off her body, and he supposed he could let Merritt helping him slide just this once.

God, he’d missed her.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed her until he thought he’d never see her again.

“Hey,” Henley said, gently, and she moved her cuffed hands up together, using one to brush the hair off his forehead. God, she was so warm. And it was so, so cold down here. “Oh god, you’re burning up, Danny.”

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna get you sick–” he started to say, and Henley laughed, almost sad.

“Oh please, Danny, that’s the last thing on my mind right now,” she said. “It’s just you two down here?”

“Far as we know,” Merritt said.

“And the Eye–”

“Saved D-Dylan and the others from the FBI, we know,” Danny said, smiling meekly. “Tressler came down t-to tell us. Merritt read his mind.”

Merritt scoffed. “I’m not a damn telepath, Atlas.”

“M-might as well be.”

“Boys.” Henley brushed her hand over Danny’s forehead again, and the contact alone got him to shut up. It’d been a while since someone had touched him without trying to hurt him. It felt nicer than it should’ve.

He looked up at Henley, her eyes a much darker color without any light to see by, and a wave of emotion hit Danny’s heart so fast and hard he felt like he was being crushed by the sea. Of everyone he’d ever met, Danny knew he’d never love anyone as much as he loved Henley Reeves. She was amazing, and beautiful, and kind, and a good friend, and an amazing partner, and even if it was only as friends, he knew he’d want to spend the rest of his life with her, even if it was just as a pair of traveling magicians. Even if nothing romantic were to ever happen between them ever again.

Danny smiled at her, and her dim form blurred before his eyes.

“Love you,” he said, quietly.

Henley paused for a moment, and Danny’s heart almost stopped, but then she kept brushing his hair, gently and softly.

“Love you too,” she whispered back.

Danny blinked, and some tears slid down his cheeks dripping onto his clothes and the floor. He loved Henley Reeves. And she loved him too.

Merritt coughed, but he didn’t sound as annoyed as Danny thought he would.

“Well, I love both of you,” he said, a little indignantly. “Can we stop with the sentimentality? It’s making me jealous.”

Henley laughed and stood up – _no, wait, don’t go_ – walking over to Merritt and rubbing his arm.

“We love you too, you big idiot,” she said.

“Yeah, we do,” Danny admitted.

Merritt chuckled, shaking his head. “Thanks, dweebs,” he said. “Now, seriously, cut the crap. We need an escape plan.”

Henley nodded and stood up, glancing around. “There’s probably something in this basement we can use to pick the locks,” she said. “I can scout around?”

“They wouldn’t leave you free to wander if that was the case,” Merritt noted.

“Worth a shot,” Danny said.

Henley nodded and drifted towards the edge of the room, sifting through boxes as well as she could with her hands cuffed together.

“Why do you think Walter snapped a photo of us?” she asked, a tinkling noise coming from her general direction that sounded like broken glass falling out of a box. _Careful, Henley_ , Danny thought. “Think he wanted a keepsake?”

Danny shook his head, and then he stopped, because oh god, why did he think shaking his head while sick was a good idea. You idiot. “No,” he managed. “They’re sending it to Dylan.”

Henley froze. “What?”

“They’re using us as bait, Henley,” Merritt said as Danny leaned his head against the cold metal pole. “Why do you think they’ve kept us in such good shape for so long?”

Henley was quiet for a moment, and then she whispered, “Shit,” and kept rifling through boxes. “Dylan’s gonna do something stupid.”

Danny sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Let’s hope for all our sakes that he doesn’t.”

* * *

Bu Bu got the text relayed through the Eye in the middle of their big planning meeting, staring at UV blueprints of the Tressler mansion and coming up with plots and points of entry.

There was a chirp on her phone, and she pulled it out of one of her many pockets, and then she stared, and Dylan knew immediately that something was wrong.

“What?” he asked. He almost didn’t want to know. “What is it?”

Bu Bu just shook her head and showed him the phone. The others crowded around to see – Dylan wished they hadn’t.

Danny, Henley, and Merritt were on the grimy floor of a basement, illuminated by a harsh flash, beaten and bruised and bloodied, like Tressler and his goons had been using them as punching bags for the past day and a half. Danny looked sick. He and Merritt were both cuffed to metal poles. And Henley wasn’t cuffed to anything, but he doubted they’d let her be like that if there was any danger of them getting out.

Jack and Lula gasped. Li was shaking in anger. Bu Bu and Allen just looked shaken.

For Dylan, all he could see was red.

“Dylan,” Bu Bu began, “don’t–”

“We’re saving them,” he said. “Tonight. The plan we have is fine. It’ll work.”

“Wait, Dylan–” Lula said, but he shook his head.

“No. They don’t have time for us to wait. We move in now, and we move in fast. Got it?”

Nods all around the table, and Dylan handed Bu Bu’s phone back. His hands were curled into trembling fists.

 _Tressler, you sick son of a bitch_ , he thought. _I’m coming for you_.

_And this time, I’m giving you what you deserve._


	35. Watch Out Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did y'all like the cliffhanger  
> did anyone even notice  
> well guess what you're getting another one  
> <3

“Alright, one final check in. Is everyone ready?”

Confirmations from everyone came through Dylan’s com, and he nodded, glancing at Lula. She was sticking by his side as they snuck through Tressler’s extensive yard, so all she had to do was nod at him instead of clog up the coms. But everyone else was ready to go – time to move in.

“Good,” Dylan said, pressing his fingers to his ear. These coms were low-tech, the best they could find, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. They could’ve waited a few more days for better supplies, but Dylan wasn’t willing to wait until then, and honestly, neither was anyone else.

Dylan ran through the events in his mind as he and Lula slipped through Tressler’s ornamented backyard, wondering if things really were as bad as they seemed. It’d been two days since their botched mission at Walter’s other mansion, not too far across town. Two nights of hell for his Horsemen, trapped in Arthur Tressler’s basement. That seemed about as bad as Dylan thought it was. He doubted Tressler would kill any of the Horsemen, or hurt them more than necessary, but if he didn’t get them out now, Dylan had a bad feeling they wouldn’t be able to run the next time they came to rescue them. They’d be comatose, or their legs would be broken, or they’d be too weak and starved and in pain to move fast enough, and even Dylan knew he wouldn’t be able to carry two teenagers and a full-grown man through a house full of hostiles. If they wanted to rescue those three, they had to do it now.

“You okay?” Lula whispered, her little face concerned, and Dylan smiled and nodded, leading the way through more of Tressler’s gardens. They rounded a corner and nearly walked right into a guard’s line of sight, but luckily for them, the guard was turned the other way, so he and Lula quickly dashed behind a sculpted bush and stayed still until they were sure the guard had left. Dylan gulped in some air and checked his watch

“We’ve still got time,” he said. “Okay. Watch out up ahead, there’s tripwires everywhere.”

“Got it,” Lula said. Then she paused. “You think Alma’s okay?”

Dylan nodded, giving her a confident smile. “Yeah,” he said. “She’ll be fine. Don’t worry about her right now. She can take care of herself.”

“And Jack?”

Dylan nodded again. “We’ll be okay, Lula,” he said. “Just follow the plan.”

He checked for more guards or traps and, upon finding none, gestured for he and Lula to move forward, continuing to sneak right through Tressler’s backyard. They’d be at the back door soon, if nothing happened. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all–

An alarm started blaring, and Dylan whipped around, cursing, finding Lula first and any sources of danger next. Lula was fine, but she looked scared. Sources of danger were nowhere in sight, but Dylan knew they were closing in fast.

“Dylan?” Lula asked.

“Split up!” he yelled.

She nodded and ran in the opposite direction, and Dylan did the same, running as fast as his legs could carry him. _She’ll be fine_ , he kept telling himself, over and over. _She’ll be fine, she’ll be fine, focus on you, she’ll be fine_ –

A guard ran into view in front of him, pointing a tazer at him, and Dylan yelled and spun out of the way.

The tazer flew past him, crackling through the air by his face, and Dylan ducked down a small pathway and emerged near the edge of the yard, surrounded by a ten-foot tall iron-wrought fence. No way to climb up that thing. Another guard appeared nearby and nearly shot him with another tazer, but Dylan just barely managed to get out of the way, slamming himself into the fence with all the grace of a drunk elephant. He pushed himself away and kept running, the clang from the metal ringing out in the gardens. The guard behind him cursed and started chasing him.

 _Keep their focus_ , he said. _Keep their focus off Lula and on you, keep doing it, come on Dylan, it’s just like a magic trick_ –

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden hand grabbing his arm, and then a hand-held tazer was pressed to neck and he yelled as arcs of electricity shot up and down his body. Then the tazer was pulled away and Dylan collapsed, and then guards surrounded him on all sides, and all Dylan could think about was how much he hated getting tazed, and how often it’d happened over the past few days.

 _Shit_ , he thought, when thought finally returned to him. The guards lifted him up by his arms, pinning them behind his back, painful enough to keep him from focusing on much else. _Shit, shit, shit_.

“Let me go,” he growled, struggling, not that it did anything but make his arms hurt more. They were dragging towards the mansion, but this wasn’t how he wanted to get there. “Let me–”

They shocked him again, the exact same way, and Dylan yelled again as his body crumpled in on itself. There was a burn forming on his neck, he could feel it. And then he heard Lula.

“Let me go!” she screamed, and every hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. “Let me go!”

Then she screamed again, like she was being tazed too, and something in Dylan’s gut made his vision turn red and pull against his captors even more.

“Stop!” he yelled, and then they tazed him again, and when the pulled away Dylan could feel bile trying to creep up his esophagus. There were spots dancing in front of his eyes. “Stop,” he choked out. “She’s twelve, stop–”

“Your mistake for bringing her into a warzone,” one of the guards replied.

Dylan almost laughed at that, if he could’ve. As if he would’ve been able to keep Lula from going on this mission if he’d tried.

He caught sight of her as they both entered through a side door, and even though he was so, so scared for her, he was proud of her too. She was limp and shivering, probably aftershocks from the tazer, but she was still defiant in the guards’ arms, gritting her teeth and glaring and snapping like a wild dog. When she saw him, her face went from angry to scared, just for a moment.

“Dylan,” she said, some fear leaking into her voice, “what–”

“We’ll be okay,” he managed, trying to give her some comfort, but he doubted it would work. Not now. They’d been stupid, just like before.

Except this time, it was Tressler’s clutches they were in, not just the FBI’s.

The men didn’t care about whatever emotional support Dylan was trying to give Lula at the moment and dragged the pair inside, pulling them roughly through the house, past ornate bathrooms and kitchenettes and long hallways filled with art and armor and other ridiculous ornaments. Every time Dylan or Lula tried to struggle, they’d be tazed immediately, so after a while they stopped, the electric burn on Dylan’s neck stinging, white spots peppering his eyesight so badly it was a miracle he could still see.

He knew Tressler wasn’t willing to take any chances, but this was something else. The guards were barely letting them move without being manhandled. Apparently, the affluent crime lord had at least a partial understanding of how crafty magicians could be, which didn’t bode well at all. Because if he knew enough not to let them move, then whatever semblance of a plan they could still muster would fall apart at the seams.

Dylan’s thoughts started drifting, drifting to what might happen next, but he shook his head and told himself to stop, stop doing that, you can’t think about that, Dylan. Doing that would make him lose his focus, and then he wouldn’t think up a plan, and then they wouldn’t escape, and then everything would be lost. He didn’t let himself think about Tressler killing him outright, right in front of his kids, or making Dylan watch as he tortured the other Horsemen, or locking him in a box for the rest of his life while he slowly but surely cut off every part of Dylan’s body, inch by inch.

All he thought about was his Horsemen, and the plan, and he hoped to god it would work. It had to work.

They ended up in a part of the house different from the rest – from what Dylan remembered of the schematics, it was in the center of the mansion, underground, almost like a bunker. It was a fairly large room with steel walls and a catwalk overhead, lit by large, dangling fluorescent lights, built like a warehouse, with large cargo doors and forklifts resting in the corners. Dylan had a hunch it was where Tressler used to hide all his illegal goods. At the moment, it was empty.

No, Dylan realized, it wasn’t empty, because lo and behold, Arthur Tressler was standing in the middle of the room like the dramatic prick he was, with his son next to him and guards holding Danny, Henley, and Merritt behind them.

“Dylan!” Henley said, shocked.

All three of them were watching them, hope starting to drain from their faces, and Dylan wanted to kick himself for making them lose faith like that. As the guards dragged he and Lula closer, he realized how bad the three of them really were, weak and tired and in definite need of at least minor medical attention. Danny looked the worst out of all of them, barely able to hold his own weight.

“Hey,” Dylan said, trying to keep his voice even. “You alright?”

“No,” Merritt answered.

Sounded about right.

“Hi guys,” Lula said, smiling nervously, and Henley gave her a brave smile, because that’s what Henley always did, and Merritt did the same, but his smile was goofier, even if it looked a little pained. Danny managed half a smirk, which was better than nothing, but it slipped away before anyone really noticed.

Dylan and Lula finally stopped only a few feet from Tressler and his little entourage, and for a moment, it was quiet, Dylan glaring daggers at the man that’d kidnapped his Horsemen. But after the moment was up, Tressler just shook his head and sighed.

“Disappointing, Mr. Rhodes,” he said. Dylan wanted to punch the smug look off his face. “You didn’t even make it five minutes. I expected more.”

“How did you know where we’d be?” Dylan asked. “We shut down your security cameras.”

“And you encoded your messages, yes. But you encoded them with an FBI encryption, and as you very well know, I have access to all those codes, thanks to the generosity of Director Paul Davis.”

Dylan paled and swallowed. The look on Tressler’s face said it all: _sloppy_.

Tressler just clicked his tongue and sighed again, disapprovingly. “You acted predictably,” he said. “Just as I planned. That photo of your little Horsemen – nice touch, that, was it not? – that set you off. Thought so. No plan made in desperate anger is ever much of a plan, wouldn’t you agree?”

Dylan gritted his teeth and pulled against his captors’ grips, knowing it was futile but trying anyway. He wouldn’t let he and his kids die in here. He wouldn’t.

“Now,” Tressler said. “I think it’s time we had a discussion, you and I. There’s some information I still require, information I can only obtain from you.”

Tressler gave him a look, one Dylan knew well, and his stomach fell into his shoes. He knew where this was going.

“The Eye rescued you from the FBI,” Tressler continued. “Is this inadequate rescue their design? Or did you go in alone?”

Dylan clenched his jaw and didn’t say a word.

Tressler sighed.

“Where did they hole you and your little gremlins up, Mr. Rhodes? A safe house? I’d appreciate a location.”

Silence.

“What about the boy? The last one?” Tressler glanced towards Lula. “He’s around, isn’t he? Where did you send him, Mr. Rhodes? I’d like to have the complete set, if you don’t mind.”

Another silent reply. Dylan wasn’t sure why Tressler thought just asking him questions would get anything out of him. Hadn’t he learned anything?

Tressler sighed again, almost disappointed, and turned to one of his guards.

“Search the premises,” he ordered. “Find the boy and bring him here. Treat him the same as the others.”

The guard nodded and gestured for some of his men to follow, leaving the room and splitting apart as they did so. Dylan swallowed again, hoping against hope they wouldn’t find Jack. If they did, the whole plan was toast.

Then again, the whole plan might be toast anyway, what with a good third of their rescue party captured in a bunker.

“You really are being needlessly difficult, Mr. Rhodes,” Tressler said, walking up to Lula. Dylan shifted a little – _no, you bastard, look at me, focus on me, not her, please not her_.

Lula glared at him, pure rage in her orb-like green eyes. Walter chuckled – Dylan noticed he was holding Danny by the scruff of his shirt, a knife pressed to his side.

“I like her,” Walter said, grinning. “She’s got some fire in her too.”

“Wow, thanks,” Lula said, flashing Walter a sarcastic smile. He frowned. “Maybe I’ll set you _on_ fire. How does that sound?”

Dylan really wished he hadn’t raised his kids to be such sarcastic idiots in the face of danger.

Then again, they had learned from the best.

Arthur Tressler chuckled and got close to Lula, too close. Dylan wasn’t the only one getting uncomfortable now – Henley and Merritt and even Danny, as sick as he was, were all on edge, shifting against their guards, watching Tressler and Lula like hawks.

“You, my dear girl,” Tressler said, “are something quite special, aren’t you?”

Lula smiled. “I do my best.”

“I’m sure you do.”

The backhand came out of nowhere, striking Lula across the face, the slap echoing in the warehouse chamber. Dylan didn’t even realize what had happened until Lula’s head snapped to the side with a surprised cry.

“Tressler!” he yelled, straining against his guards. “You bastard, don’t you dare touch her, don’t you fucking dare!”

“Let her go!” Henley yelled.

“Jesus Christ man, she’s twelve!” That was Merritt.

Danny didn’t say anything – Dylan wondered if he even _could_ say anything at this point – but he looked mad, mad enough to do something stupid, mad enough to murder someone. Probably Tressler. Walter, on the other hand, still had him by his scruff and was smiling with glee.

Lula spat some blood onto Tressler’s shoes and lifted her head, smiling. “Aw, come on,” she said. “You can do better than that.”

Tressler’s eye twitched, and he looked between the blood on his shoe and Lula’s face, and then he held his hand out towards one of the guards.

“Give me your tazer,” he said.

Dylan shook his head and struggled against the guards, watching one of them hand over his hand-held tazer. “Tressler, stop,” he said. His voice was shaking. “Please.”

Tressler didn’t even spare him a glance, instead focusing on the tazer, turning it on slowly, letting it fizzle and crack before shutting it off, and then turning to Lula, who still had that stupidly dangerous look in her eyes.

“Tressler!” Dylan knew Lula could take it, he knew she could, but he didn’t want her to have to, because that’s what he did. He protected her, and all his kids, and everyone he could, because that’s what he was. He’d promised he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again, and he’d lied. “Tressler, it’s me! You’re questioning me! Leave her out of this!”

Another buzz from the tazer, closer to Lula’s body now, and the other three kids flinched. Lula didn’t.

 _Come on, Li_ , Dylan thought desperately. _Please, please hurry, come on_.

He was going to kill Arthur Tressler.

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, Mr. Rhodes,” Tressler said, flicking the tazer on again. “I can do anything to you, and it wouldn’t change a thing. But one little shock–”

He pressed the tazer to Lula stomach, and she screamed, her body spasming from the electricity. Dylan realized he was screaming too, and so were his kids, until Tressler pulled the weapon away and left Lula limp and breathing heavily.

“One little shock to one of your precious Horsemen, and you’ll do anything.” Another smile, this one directed right at Dylan. He clenched his jaw. “Isn’t that right?”

Dylan didn’t reply, watching Lula, making sure she was okay, and then Tressler stepped towards her again and Dylan’s mouth moved before he could stop it.

“Wait,” he said. Tressler stopped. “Wait. Stop.”

A smile then, from Arthur Tressler, and Walter began to grin wide as the Cheshire cat. “Yes, Mr. Rhodes?” Tressler asked.

Dylan didn’t know what to say – he glanced between Tressler and Lula, and then to Danny and Henley and Merritt, and then back to Tressler. What, was he going to give up the Eye, right here and now? Was he really willing to do that?

Yes, he was. He’d do it for any one of his kids. And that’s what scared him the most.

“I’m waiting, Mr. Rhodes,” Tressler said, flipping the tazer on again. The crackling echoed faintly in the warehouse room, bouncing off the walls and filling Dylan’s ears. “I doubt Ms. May here can take another one of these.”

Dylan opened his mouth, to say what he didn’t know, but that didn’t end up mattering.

Because then, out of the blue, Lula started laughing.

Tressler blinked, almost as if he didn’t know where the sound was coming from at first, and then he turned to Lula and stared at her, more irritated than confused. Dylan stared at her too. What the hell was she doing? Taunting him? Didn’t she realize that was a horrible idea?

“What?” Tressler asked, and Lula just shook her head, smiling up at him. The teeth on the side of her mouth where Tressler had smacked her were bloody. She almost looked insane.

“You think I can’t take another one of those?” Lula asked, grinning. Her eyes were shining like a madman’s; Dylan noticed the other Horsemen and Walter looked more than a little concerned. Tressler… just looked angry. “You think I’m some goddamn pansy pulled off the side of the road? It’ll take more than that, bozo. You might want to try harder.”

Tressler switched off the tazer and got right in Lula’s face. She didn’t stop smiling.

 _Lula_ , Dylan thought. _Stop_.

“Do you think I won’t hurt you?” Tressler asked, his voice calm and even, still collected and accented and perfect, even now. “Because you’re a child? I’m not afraid to hurt children, dear girl.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly news,” Lula replied. Tressler’s eye twitched again, and Dylan almost laughed – _well, it’s not, you’ve been chasing us across the country for an entire year_. “I just think it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“You think I’m scared of you.” Lula grinned again. “I’m not.”

Tressler straightened back up, out of Lula’s face, but now he was towering over her, looming like a giant. He wasn’t even that tall, but Lula was short and scrawny for her age, and she looked so small compared to him, and Dylan wanted to scream.

 _Stop_ , he kept thinking, _Lula, don’t be stupid, stop_.

But she wouldn’t. Because she was Lula May, and she fought people three times her size and never backed down, even if she knew she’d lose.

It was part of why she’d made it onto the Eye’s list.

It was also likely to get her killed.

“You’re not scared of me?” Tressler asked, his voice dangerously cold and calm. “Really?”

“Nope.” Lula smiled. “I’m not scared of anything.”

Dylan heard Merritt scoff a little, and they all turned to him.

“Needles,” he muttered.

Lula scowled at him. “Needles are evil,” she replied. “And I can handle them fine.”

“Alright, fine, I don’t doubt you.”

Lula rolled her eyes and looked back at Tressler, still smiling. Tressler looked a little taken aback.

“Needles,” he said, slowly.

Lula smirked. “I can handle needles.”

“You can handle needles.” He smiled then. “I doubt you can handle me.”

Lula laughed again, almost maniacal this time. “Oh, come on, really?” she said. “That was pathetic. You’re really not shaping up to be a very good supervillain, Mr. Tressler sir.”

Tressler narrowed his eyes, irritated. “I’m not a supervillain, Ms. May,” he said. “I’m simply a man that uses what he’s been given in life.”

“What, like being rich and a penchant for ruining lives?” Lula scoffed. “You can’t scare me.”

“I doubt that very seriously.”

“Nothing can scare me.”

Tressler smiled then and leaned in, and Dylan strained against his guards again, knowing something dangerous was going to happen, and Lula would be paying the price.

“Does death scare you, my dear?” Tressler asked, the threat clear in his voice.

Dylan’s breath hitched in his throat.

 _Don’t kill her_ , he thought, his mind going into overdrive. _Don’t kill her, don’t kill her, don’t you dare kill her, you bastard_ –

“Nah, it doesn’t,” Lula said, nonchalantly, and Dylan had to do a double take.

“It doesn’t?” Tressler asked, quirking an eyebrow. “And why, exactly, is that?”

And then, like a miracle, the piece in Dylan’s ear crackled to life.

“ _I’m ready!_ ” Li shouted, his voice crackly over the comms. “ _Jack, go!_ ”

Dylan felt hope flare in his chest, and he turned to Lula, to tell her it was time, but she was still staring Arthur Tressler down, her bloody mouth grinning like the face of a ghoul.

“Because,” Lula said, in response to Tressler’s question. “Death is coming for us all.”

Then Jack Wilder, in all his tiny twelve-year-old glory, swung down from the catwalk on a cable cord and slammed his feet into Walter Tressler’s back, and then the power went out with a loud burst and everything went black. 


	36. Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it was later than usual but HERE. TAKE ANOTHER CHAPTER. UR WELCOME. it's shorter than usual so sorry about that but please. I'm dying here. it's almost finals week.

Dylan worked best in chaos.

When his father was still alive, their apartment was always in varying levels of disarray, his mother trying in vain to organize the place, but that was how Dylan’s father liked it, and Dylan grew up learning how to navigate mess and find order in the clutter of their apartment. The apartment stayed like that after his father died, his mother unable to move herself to clean. During FBI training, Dylan worked best in situations where everyone was running around, and the place was dark, and hostiles and hostages got mixed up easily in the confusion. And then, after a few years, he drove five kids around in a van, and if that wasn’t the pure definition of chaos itself, then Dylan didn’t know what was. But he’d thrived, because he knew how to bring order to a mess and work things out when every person and object in the van refused to stay in one place.

When Jack swung down from the catwalk and Li shut the power off to the whole house, plunging everyone into screams and darkness – which had been their plan all along, he and Lula were the distraction, just as he planned, he just didn’t realize which one of them Tressler would be hurting, he thought it’d be him – Dylan was in his element.

And thanks to what they’d picked up from him in the past year, so were his Horsemen.

“Dylan!” Henley yelled over the sounds of panicked guards and Tressler yelling and grunts from various people as they were kicked and punched and scuffled about. There were several clicks of handcuffs being unlocked and dropping to the ground or clicking back onto the wrists of their captors, and Dylan loved his kids, because of course they’d figured out a way to pick the locks without his or Jack or Lula’s help, of course. “Which door?”

“Go straight!” he yelled, knowing they’d understand it meant the door he came through. If he wasn’t vague enough, Tressler’s men would figure out where they were going – then again, it was going to be one hell of a time making sure everyone got out anyway and no one followed them.

Dylan easily broke free from his surprised guards and slammed one in the nose with his elbow, slipping the keycard off his belt as he did so, and the other tripped and fell over another guard in the darkness. Dylan ran for the door, the plot of the room and its inhabitants burned into his memory, knowing what to avoid, listening for guards, trying to track everyone in the room through the darkness.

“Get them!” Tressler yelled. “Don’t let them get away, god damn it!”

“Guys, hurry!” That was Jack.

Dylan made it too the door and quickly located the wall panel that opened it – a swipe with his new keycard, and the door buzzed and unlocked, and Dylan pushed it open. Then he smashed the panel with his elbow and held the door open, waiting for his kids. Flashlights were being turned on now, moving about wildly, trying to find them or find a light or find Tressler or find _something_ , but then Dylan heard footsteps running towards him and recognized most all of them as his kids.

“I’ve got Danny!” Merritt said, and Dylan counted six recognizable bodies sprint through the door before slamming it shut behind him, smashing the panel on the other side. A guard on the other side slammed into the metal door with a loud thud, and then he fell to the floor with a muffled groan. Jack and Henley both had flashlights, and they were pointing them at the ceiling, spreading out the light. Lula was already running ahead to scout. Merritt had Danny propped up, but Danny was shakily managing to take a few steps, gritting his teeth. Dylan moved to take some of his weight.

“Dylan–” Danny started to say.

“Not now,” Dylan told him. They could talk later. Right now, they had to move.

They ran down the hall, and then Dylan said, “Left, up the stairs!” and they followed, climbing up the stairs in the darkness barely even tripping. Then, halfway up, the lights turned back on, and Li shouted into the coms again.

“ _Shit!_ ” he yelled. Gunfire peppered the background. “ _Rendezvous B!_ ”

“This way!” Lula said, quietly, and the six of them sprinted up the rest of the stairs, Lula pushing against a panel in the wall that opened into a deserted hallway.

“Are the cameras still off?” Dylan asked Bu Bu, his hand up to his com. Their communications were truly encrypted now – no way anyone would be able to hear what they were saying, at least through their earpieces. The FBI encryption code, just like most everything else, had been part of Dylan’s plan all along.  

“ _Yes_ ,” Bu Bu replied, her voice filled with static. “ _Hurry, they’re coming for you!_ ”

“This way,” Lula whispered again. She hurried down the hall, and everyone followed, tense and quiet and ready to fight. She and Jack were in the lead, then Henley, and then the older three boys took up the rear. They ran through the house like ghosts, stopping and ducking down side corridors to let guards run past, Jack leading them on the occasional detour when Bu Bu or Allen warned them of some oncoming hostiles.

“Almost there,” Dylan whispered, knowing they were close, so close. Li would be waiting for them in a car in the garage. Bu Bu and Allen would have the way paved for their escape. They were getting out of this. “Almost there–”

A gunshot rang out from behind them and flew past Dylan’s ear, the bullet embedding itself into the wall in front of them, and Dylan cursed. _Too soon, you idiot_.

“They’re headed for the garage!” Walter yelled behind them, and then he fired the gun again, but the Horsemen had already rounded the corner and were descending another flight of stairs. “Father, send your men there!”

“Move, hurry!” Dylan yelled.

“Li, are you ready?” Jack asked, hand pressed to his ear.

“ _Yeah!_ ” Li said. His voice was getting worse and worse over the coms. “ _Hurry, hurry!_ ”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, took a left, and then they burst through the doors into the garage, running inside. Walter was still hot on their tail behind them, firing his gun like a madman. There was the deafening screech of an engine and squeaking tires, and then Li pulled up in front of them in a Jeep he’d definitely stolen from Tressler’s garage.

“In, now!” Li yelled. Jack and Lula were already clambering inside.

Henley came in next, and then Merritt hopped up, leaving Danny with Dylan, and then he and Henley reached out to take Danny from him, to help him into the car.

Dylan heard the door behind him bang open, and Danny’s eyes went wide, focusing on something behind him.

“Stop!” Walter shouted. _Walter_.

Dylan didn’t have time to react before Danny kicked him in the chest and sent him falling backwards to the ground, and then a gunshot rang out, and Henley screamed.

Dylan saw Danny’s stomach contract, suddenly, as if he’d been kicked by an invisible foot.

And then red blossomed on his shirt, staining the gray with blood.

“No!” Dylan yelled, scrambling up towards Danny. Behind him, Walter’s gun was clicking, out of bullets, and then Walter cursed and threw the gun at them. It banged off the side of the Jeep just as Dylan climbed inside.

“Step on it!” Lula yelled.

Li did.

They tore out of the garage, Henley shutting the car door behind Dylan because Dylan hadn’t, he was too focused on Danny, holding him in his arms, pressing something one of the kids had given him to stop the bleeding.

“Shit,” Dylan said. He was crying. “Shit, shit, Atlas, you idiot, don’t you _ever_ do that again, do you hear me? Please! Come on, stay with me!”

Danny cracked a smile – his eyes were glassy, and Dylan noticed his contacts were missing. Someone must’ve taken them out while they were locked in Tressler’s basement. His stupid kid couldn’t even see properly, and he’d still kicked Dylan out of the way.

“Danny, you idiot,” Dylan said again. The car bumped over potholes and terrain, and Dylan wanted to tell Li to _stop, take it easy, Danny can’t take this_ , but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Danny’s face, afraid that if he did, his kid might die in his arms without him even noticing. “Don’t die on me, not now, okay? Don’t you dare!”

Danny just kept smiling, his hand weakly holding onto Dylan’s wrist, that stupid carefree smile still on his face even after a goddamn bullet to the gut.

“Li, hurry!” Dylan said, but he knew Li was going as fast as he could, talking to his mother on coms, telling her what had happened. He was vaguely aware of everyone else crowding around, Henley shaking and crying, Merritt cursing up a storm, Jack and Lula with terrified eyes. Danny wasn’t going to die. _He wasn’t going to die_.

“Stay with us, okay?” Dylan said, gently, pleading Danny not to die, not in his arms, not like this. “Come on, Danny, stay with us, please, _please_ , god damn it, stay here!”

His grip was getting slacker. His eyes were starting to close.

“Danny, no, come on!”

“Hurry, Li!” Henley screamed.

Li sped over hills and around corners, going as fast as he possibly could, while Bu Bu yelled in the coms and his kids yelled and cursed and cried and did their best to remain calm with one of them dying right in front of them, but Dylan just kept holding Danny in his arms, talking and rocking, keeping him here, keeping him from falling away.

* * *

It’d been four hours.

They’d managed to get to the nearest hospital and wheel Danny into surgery, still alive but barely, and then the Horsemen filed into the hallway outside the rooms and clustered there like so many lost sheep. This close to Tressler, they should’ve been worried, but Bu Bu and Allen Scott-Frank worked their magic, and Li managed to wriggle his way into the security camera booth, and now most every cop in the hospital was on alert for some kind of tactical invasion. No one noticed the fact that the infamous Horsemen were sitting in a hallway, unable to move, barely able to fill out paperwork. Henley doubted anyone cared – they all had their own problems to deal with, in a hospital.

Danny was still in surgery. Henley had no idea when he’d get out, if he was alive or dead, if he’d be the same afterwards. What if he couldn’t walk? She supposed that would suck, but it wouldn’t be too bad – he’d find a way to warp it, make it his gimmick, and he’d still have his hands and his wits and his looks, and that was what mattered for magic. But what if it was worse? What if he’d lost so much blood that his brain had run out of oxygen? What if he couldn’t remember how to shuffle cards, or who he was, or who they were? What if he ended up in a coma? What if… what if he ended up dead?

She couldn’t stop thinking it, even though she knew it was useless, they’d have no idea if Danny was okay or not until he came back out, or until a nurse or doctor or surgeon appeared and told them what had happened. If Danny was alive or dead, okay or not okay. Thinking about it didn’t help anybody. But god damn it, she couldn’t seem to stop.

At least she was doing better than Dylan, though. He was pacing, and he hadn’t stopped, not for the four hours they’d been there, except to fill out paperwork, and even then he hadn’t sat down. He hadn’t washed the blood off his hands either, even though Henley and Merritt had. He just kept walking up and down the hallway, staring at the floor tiles, as if they held the secrets to the universe, or maybe the secret to what was happening inside the surgery center. He probably felt guilty as hell, and terrified, and angry, and god knew what else. Henley couldn’t even imagine.

She’d been watching him for a while now, worried, since she had nothing else to do. Earlier, she’d comforted Jack and Lula until they fell asleep together on the plastic bench, and then she’d held Merritt’s hand until he feel asleep too. Cops would drop by and ask how they were doing, and nurses came by offering snacks and drinks and anything else, and Henley replied yes, or no, or thank you, because she knew Dylan was too distracted by his own thoughts to make a coherent conversation. Except now, things had quieted down somewhat, and it was just her and Dylan, her sitting and shaking in a molded plastic chair, Dylan still pacing, wringing his hands together, staring at the floor.

Henley knew talking to him wouldn’t do any good, so she swallowed and leaned back, slipping her hands into her pockets. Then she paused, because there was something in her pocket she didn’t remember putting there. And then she realized she hadn’t been the one to put it there at all.

Her eyes widened. _I’d forgotten_ , she thought. _I’d completely forgotten_.

And miraculously, through all the craziness at Tressler’s mansion and Li’s driving and the hospital, it had stayed in her pocket, all this time.

Slowly, so slowly she thought it might disappear from her grasp if she pulled it out too fast, Henley lifted the hacking stick with all of Tressler’s illegal dealings and contacts out of her jacket pocket, staring at it like it was the key to everything. In a way, it was.

She heard Dylan stop pacing, and when she looked up, he was staring at her, and then the stick, and then at her again.

“Is that–” he began, and she nodded.

He blinked, like he couldn’t believe it either.

“How?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She smiled. “Parting gift from Thaddeus Bradley,” she said. “He didn’t like Tressler skimping him.”

Dylan stared at her, pausing, his mind running to catch up with this new information, and then a little fire returned to his eyes, and he almost smiled.

“Henley,” he said, walking up to the receptionist desk, and Henley stood up and followed, clutching the stick in her hand. Dylan snagged a pen off the desk and turned to her, the lady not even noticing. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What?” she asked, but Dylan grabbed her hand and pushed up her jacket sleeve, scribbling something down on her arm. It was an address.

“I need you,” he said, continuing to write, “to contact the Eye and tell them to send that to this address. Can you do that for me?”

Henley nodded and glanced down at her arm as Dylan released it, capping the pen and returning it. It was an address in New York.

“I can do that,” she said. Bu Bu was waiting in a van outside, along with Li and Allen Scott-Frank. She could ask them for a contact, and they’d set her up. She was sure of it. “Who am I sending it to?”

Dylan looked at her, and then he smiled, really smiled, and Henley saw in his face the faintest glimmer of hope.

“Alma Dray,” he said. “Send it to Alma Dray.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	37. The Horsemen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO FELL ASLEEP AT 8 PM BC SHE HASN'T BEEN GETTING SLEEP AND FORGOT TO POST A CHAPTER YESTERDAY WOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> I know this is a short one, but don't worry, there's another coming out tonight
> 
> and guess what
> 
> it'll be the last

Alma wasn’t there, in the L.A. hospital when Daniel J. Atlas finally woke up, but if she had, she would’ve heard the conversation go something like this:

Danny woke up about three days after his intense surgery, safe and sound, with the bullet dislodged from his stomach and everything all patched up and on the road to recovery. Danny himself could barely move, and his entire body hurt, but he’d slept off the cold he’d gotten in the Tressler’s makeshift dungeon, and most of the cuts and bruises he’d also obtained had mostly healed. He didn’t look great, but he looked much better. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Dylan asleep in a chair by the window and Henley on her phone, plugged into an outlet so it wouldn’t die.

He croaked out lame one-liner with a smirk on his face, and Henley looked up and almost started crying.

Dylan woke up next, and then Henley ran outside to grab the others, and then Danny’s entire room was filled with familiar faces, all relieved and happy and excited to see him awake, and Danny had never felt more loved in his entire life. The first thing he did was turn to Dylan and apologize for being a dick. Dylan told him to _shut up, don’t be an idiot, you literally just took a bullet for me Atlas. I think we’re even_.

That made everyone smile, Danny included. Nothing had changed.

The Horsemen told Danny about everything that’d happened in the past three days he’d spent in a mini coma, because a lot had happened, and it was pretty satisfying to know. First of all, Henley’s hacking stick had made it to Alma via the Eye (who had also been protecting them from Tressler’s men while they stayed in the hospital, faking documents and putting hospital police on alert for a private army, not that they had any idea who they were protecting). Alma managed to contact Natalie Austin and show her the evidence, and Austin contacted some people in the Bureau she still trusted, and soon, very soon after that, Austin was waltzing into FBI director Paul Davis’s office with a pair of handcuffs and the Miranda Rights on her lips. A good fourth of the FBI was on that stick, and Austin helped arrest as many as they could. The effects were still being felt all over the country, as people wondered whether or not they could still trust one of their federal law enforcement agencies, but Austin did her best to ensure people something like this would never happen again, not while she was in charge.

And she was in charge. Dylan took great pride in telling this bit of the story. Natalie Austin was director of the FBI. He was prouder of her than he wanted to admit.

Tressler and Walter were scooped up quickly and quietly by Fuller and Cowan, placed in jail cells, and so far their lawyers hadn’t found a way to weasel them out yet. No one thought they would. Once Tressler was under lock and key, all the information on his drive was made public so people would understand why actions were being taken. Under the weight of damning evidence, popular opinion of Tressler and his company plummeted. No one liked associating with a former arms dealer and child kidnapper.

Thaddeus Bradley managed to flee the country before the FBI knocked on his door. They didn’t know where he was, but his bank accounts were cleared and his possessions were gone, and most all the Horsemen had a feeling he wouldn’t be bothering them again.

Alma had been cleared of all charges as soon as Tressler was in a cell, mostly through some clever manipulation on her part. According to Dylan, who’d heard it from Alma, she convinced Interpol to claim she was an undercover agent, sent in to help the FBI director weed out the bad apples in the bureau. That, naturally, implied Interpol had any idea what was going on at all, which was false, but they got to share the limelight and glory with Alma Dray, and she had a feeling that was the only way they would’ve let her off with such an easy deal. The Interpol director was a fairly predictable man with a fairly sizable ego. Everyone could tell Dylan found it annoying, Alma not getting all the credit she deserved, but Alma didn’t mind. After all, she’d been meddling with secret criminal societies as a law enforcement agent herself. And what mattered most was that everyone was safe.

She was currently in New York, staying low in a small apartment while the mess sorted itself out, and she’d only been able to call once. After that, contact had been discontinued, mostly for her sake – they couldn’t have Alma calling a known criminal organization and sullying her well-deserved reputation.

That was something else Danny learned. The Eye was still considered a criminal organization, even with Austin in charge. No one really blamed her. It’s not like she should’ve been able to clear an entire worldwide network of larcenist magicians anyway; she was director of the FBI, and her first duty was to uphold the law. And the Eye was still very much an organization outside that law.

Which technically meant all the Horsemen were criminals. But Austin _had_ been able to keep much of their involvement under wraps, at least for the kids. For Dylan, he was still technically a federal fugitive. But since they had more pressing matters to deal with, Dylan had a good feeling they wouldn’t be coming after him for a while.

Henley’s parents had been arrested for child abuse though, thanks to the scandal that erupted after she sent the videos she’d uploaded to her email account to the LAPD. They had the best lawyers in the city, but the video was some pretty damning evidence, not to mention some of the security guards that’d been hired were stepping forward, most notably Hal Corcoran, Henley’s former warden. Her sister was being pulled out of college and questioned too, but from what Henley had just learned via the internet before Danny woke up, she was calling out her parents too, citing emotional abuse on her part and both emotional and physical abuse to her little sister. Henley had a feeling her parents would be going to jail and not leaving for a long, long time.

Merritt gleefully told Danny about his brother Chase getting caught at airport security and having a mental breakdown before being taken into FBI custody. The whole thing was on YouTube. They decided against showing Danny until he was better, because laughing might tear the stitches in his stomach. Danny made a show of pouting but cataloged it for later in his mind.

All in all, everything was okay now. There would be no one tracking them across the country, no one trying to separate them, and the Eye was ready to take them in and ship them across the ocean to a base they could live in for the time being. All the kids had been made official members of the Eye. Bu Bu had been cleared and placed back on the leading council where she belonged. Dylan was offered a spot up there too – the kids mentioned this, not Dylan, Dylan wouldn’t dare – but he said no, he wasn’t leadership material. Not quite yet. And besides, he had kids to take care of.

Once all the stories were over (including Jack and Lula’s story about the horrors of hospital food and sneaking outside at two am last night to buy Chick-Fil-A for the whole family), Danny asked what would happen next. Dylan said they’d probably have to go to England soon, to an observatory they’d be living in until the Eye needed them again. Lula asked if the thought the Eye would actually call on them for help, and Dylan nodded, a clever glint in his eye. They would. He didn’t doubt that.

Danny frowned though, not quite satisfied, and if Alma had been there, she would’ve frowned too.

“What about Alma?” he asked, his voice raspy. “Can’t we see her too?”

Dylan didn’t have time to answer before Li, Bu Bu, and Allen Scott-Frank walked into the room, smiling cheerfully at Danny and telling the Horsemen they had somewhere to be.

* * *

“What do you mean, we can’t take it with us?”

Lula had asked the question, but she knew everyone had been thinking it. They were all back in the warehouse where they’d left the van, _their_ Horseman van, and Bu Bu had just told them they couldn’t take it to the Greenwich Observatory.

It didn’t seem fair, after everything. This was where they’d all lived for the past year, where they became a family, where they learned what it meant to be part of one. That bunk was Lula’s bunk, that box was Jack’s box to sit on, that beach chair with duct tape no longer stuck to the floor was Merritt’s sad excuse for a bed, that driver’s seat up front was Dylan’s home base.

“I’m sorry,” Bu Bu said. “But it’s not exactly inconspicuous, and that is what is most important now. And I believe it would be best if it came to China with Li and myself. Our shop there can keep it secret and safe, and you can come visit it whenever you like.”

It made sense, everyone knew it, but no one liked the idea of leaving the van. Henley placed her hand on the side, tracing her finger over the glossed paint job. Danny, who was in a wheelchair currently being pushed by Merritt, looked about as crestfallen as Lula felt.

They were losing their home again, all of them. And it wouldn’t be gone forever, but it’d be weird learning how to sleep without feeling bumps in the road, or being cramped up near the ceiling, or hearing Merritt’s snores and Jack’s mumbling and Danny talking to himself as he shuffled cards. It’d be weird not to wake up and have to ask where they were – Lula had liked that, it reminded her of the circus. The good things about the circus. Traveling, shifting. They were never tied down, never stayed in one place for long, and Lula really liked that. It made her feel like they were ghosts, ever-shifting, and every new place they went, the Horsemen could be anything they wanted to be.

Lula sighed and glanced around, and when no one looked like they were going to move, she decided to go first and climbed into the van. Jack followed almost immediately, and then Henley, and then Dylan and Merritt managed to lift Danny and his wheelchair into the van, though Merritt had to kick his chair out of the way to fit it. Lula climbed into her bunk bed and stared at the ceiling, where she’d scribbled in sharpie and all over the top. Jack sat down at the table and traced his fingers over the carved wood. Henley climbed into the passenger seat and stared out the windshield. Merritt sat next to Danny on his beach chair, and Dylan sat next to Jack at the table.

It was quiet for a while, them just sitting there, soaking it all in.

And then, all at once, like they’d choreographed it perfectly, the Horsemen began to move, to pack things up, to take what they couldn’t part with, to clamor out of the van for what might be the last time.

Lula grabbed her backpack and a reusable grocery bag full of other items, and then she made sure all five of her animals were safe and sound and able to accompany them to England. Everyone stuffed things into bags, but there wasn’t much stuff and weren’t many bags. They’d learned not to need much traveling around in the van – it wouldn’t fit, and usually, they didn’t need it anyway. All they needed was the van and each other. If they had that, they’d be fine.

Lula supposed they wouldn’t need the van anymore. But the Horsemen were still together, and that’s what mattered most.

They amassed back outside the van with their packed belongings and stared at the painted logo on the side, like an audience watching a play. Lula smiled and rubbed her eyes.

“Bye, van,” she said. “We’ll miss you.”

No one said it with her, but she knew they were thinking it. She didn’t have to be a mentalist to know that.

They shut the doors, and Dylan banged on the side of the van one last time, as if to hear the clang it always made when he was telling them to _get up, get out of bed, we have a show to perform and you cretins need breakfast_ , and Henley made finger guns at herself in the side view mirror, and Jack climbed up top with Lula and sat there, legs dangling. Then they jumped down, and everyone retreated, heading for the doors, away from their home.

Well, no, that wasn’t really true, Lula supposed. The van was their home, but the van wasn’t what made it home. They were taking their home with them, wherever they went, as long as they were together.

Lula smiled, and everyone else smiled with her as they left the warehouse, climbing into the back of a nondescript black car from the Eye with their bags and boxes and animals.

“We’ll be alright,” Dylan said, smiling at his kids. The doors shut, and they were on their way. “We’re the Horsemen, aren’t we? We can do anything.”

Lula grinned, and Jack squeezed her hand. She couldn’t agree more.


	38. Epilogue, Two Days Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> r u ready
> 
> bc im not

Alma Dray wasn’t stupid – she knew exactly what she’d find at the mysterious address slipped under her door at 3 am last night, with no sign of the messenger and the Eye symbol stamped at the bottom. She memorized the address and slipped the note into her book, because she still had it, the book about the Eye she’d taken to America on a hunch, the one that may have started everything.

It still had Lionel Shrike’s name on it, right up front, so Alma took it with her the next morning to the small, dingy apartment in New York City, only a few blocks from where she was staying.

When she knocked on the door, the excited scuffle of feet was the first thing she heard.

“It’s her!” Lula whispered, obviously unable to contain herself. The others shushed her. “Sorry.”

When the door finally opened, it was Dylan she saw first, eyes smiling and happy and warm, a grin on his face, looking much better than usual.

“Hi,” he said, softly.

She smiled, and then she leaned forward and kissed him, right there in the hallway, and she could feel him almost melt under her touch. When she pulled away, she saw Jack and Lula high-five and Merritt pawn over some money to Henley. Danny, who was in a wheelchair, just rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. They all seemed so happy.

“Nice to see you,” Alma said, and Dylan’s grin grew wider.

“Nice to see you too,” he said. “Might want to get inside. We aren’t technically supposed to be here.”

Alma nodded and slipped into the apartment, which was small and dingy but still seemed cozy in a way. The kids pulled her to a ratty couch and made her sit down, hugging her the whole way and jabbering on about all the various exploits they’d gotten up to.

“You should’ve seen it!” Jack said, grinning just about as wide as Dylan. “Danny kicked Dylan out of the way! He’s like a hero!”

“Uh, excuse you, I _am_ a hero,” Danny replied. Alma laughed. “A stupid one, but a hero nonetheless.”

“He’s never gonna let me live that down,” Dylan said.

“No I am not, I’m glad you understand the parameters of being saved by the one and only J. Daniel Atlas.”

“ _Danny_ ,” Henley said, playfully nudging his shoulder, and Danny blushed and fell silent. Well, at least someone could get to him now.

Jack and Lula told her about their nightly escapes from the hospital to obtain better food, and Merritt showed her the video of her brother (that she’d already watched numerous times, but she didn’t mention that), and Henley talked all about her parents, and Dylan told her about Bu Bu and England being offered a seat on the Eye council but refusing to take it. They told her about having to leave the van behind to get shipped to China, and they told her about sneaking away in the airport to go to New York, just to see her, because why wouldn’t they? She was a Horseman too.

Alma almost cried, several times, but she managed to hug every single one of them at least five times, and she kissed Dylan again too. Because she could. And it was nice, being able to kiss him whenever she wanted now. She had a feeling he thought it was nice too.

She stayed for a few hours, and Dylan made pancakes and they all ate at a table like it was a real family breakfast (or brunch, really, going by the time), which went about as well as Alma expected. Lula spilled her milk, and Jack and Danny fought over the last piece of bacon (“I’m a growing boy.” “Yeah? And I’m a boy that just got a bullet dug out of his stomach. Give me the meat”), and Henley talked to her constantly while Merritt just sipped his orange juice and smirked. Dylan and Alma held hands for most of breakfast. Dylan had to eat with his left hand, but he said he didn’t mind. And he wasn’t too bad at it either.

Eventually though, Alma had to leave, so Dylan pulled something out of his pocket and gave it to her. “It’s a secure phone,” he said, pressing it into her palm. “You can call us on it whenever you like, and no one can trace the call.”

“It’s an Eye-phone,” Lula said, pointing to it. It was, in fact, an iPhone, but Alma knew that wasn’t what she was going for. “Get it? Because of the Eye? Get it?”

“She gets it, Lula,” Merritt said.

“I’m just making sure!”

Alma smiled and slipped the phone into her pocket, and then she hugged everyone goodbye and her heart started to ache. She probably wouldn’t see them in person again for a while, a long while. She had to make the most of this now.

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling as she pulled away from Merritt to hug Lula. “I’ll be going back to France soon. That’s much closer to England than here.”

“But it’s still another _country_ ,” Lula complained, wrapping her arms around Alma’s neck.

“Lula, have you seen a map of Europe?” Danny asked. “Countries over there are closer than states are here.”

“Seriously?”

“Dylan, I _told_ you we needed to work on geography.”

Dylan swatted his hand in Danny’s direction, and then he hugged Alma too; he gave her one more kiss, this one a little longer than the rest, and a few of the kids groaned behind them, but Alma didn’t care. Dylan didn’t either.

She stepped over the threshold, and then she remembered and quickly turned around, pulling the Eye tome out of her bag. “Wait, Dylan,” she said. “Your book.”

Alma held it out for him, the gilded Eye design glinting in the light, and Dylan took a good long look at it, and then he shook his head and smiled.

“You keep it,” he said. “He’d want you to have it.”

Alma blinked, and then she smiled, and the book went back in her bag. Then she waved and turned away, listening to the Horsemen laugh and bicker before the door finally shut behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god. It's over. It's done. I finished it. 
> 
> I'm kind of relieved. 
> 
> I'm also very sad. 
> 
> Wow, okay, I just. Thank you guys, all of you, for sticking with me and this big ol' stupid fic for so long, even through all the mess and all the shit I was going through and all the shit I put the characters through (not so sorry about that ehehe), and the funny memes and the wonderful replies and the shitty author's notes and just everything. I definitely wouldn't have finished this fic without everyone's comments and kudos and messages to my blog and all that wonderful support. (*me, at a mic, crying* I'd like to thank the academy, and my family, thank you, thank you, etc. etc. let's move on)
> 
> God this has been a ride. I will admit I'm grateful for it to be done, because it's (1) an accomplishment and (2) a huge weight off my chest and (3) closure for you desperate lot. But I am sad to see it go. The Van Fic has by far been one of my favorite things to write. But I think I may return to the NYSM realm, maybe with some of my other AUs I have stored away on my blog. Not too soon, I am in college and exams are around the corner, but don't give up hope. I am, first and foremost, a writer.
> 
> Thanks a lot y'all. It's been fun.
> 
> <3


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